The Gun Runner's Tale
by MaverickLover2
Summary: When the Mavericks are mistaken for the dangerous Radson brothers, and the future of Texas is on the line, what lengths will Bret go to in order to extract him and his brother from a case of mistaken identity? And can he do it before someone gets killed?
1. Rebirth of the Republic

Chapter 1 – Rebirth of the Republic

They'd been traveling for almost two weeks by the time they got into Littlewood, Texas. It had been the quietest two weeks that the brothers had ever spent together, and Bret was sure that if Bart didn't start talking soon, he was going to lose his mind.

"Do you want to stay here tonight and go into Laredo tomorrow, or do you wanna keep riding?"

Bart shook his head. "Don't care."

"Do you care about anything?" Bret muttered under his breath. He didn't have to worry about Bart answering him because there was nothing that seemed to penetrate the gloom that had settled on his younger brother. That was the result of falling in love with a woman who'd been deserted by her husband a year and a half earlier, only to have him suddenly return just as Bart was on the verge of proposing marriage. Some men might have considered that a heaven-sent reprieve, but Bart had given his heart away and had it stepped on in the process. He still hadn't recovered, although he put on a good face when they were around other people. Alone with Bret, however, he let his true feelings show. And he was devastated.

Bret made the decision to stop in Littlewood and spend the night, and Bart didn't protest. They put their horses up at the livery, and Bart spent almost two hours grooming Noble, his temperamental gelding. The horse didn't complain, mind you; he was glad for the attention. Bret checked them into the hotel and got a room in front; when Bart couldn't sleep at night, he liked to sit in the dark at the front window and watch the street. He'd been doing a lot of that lately.

The older Maverick was determined he was going to get his brother into a different frame of mind, no matter what it took. He had questions about the way things had been left when they departed Natchez, and he wanted some answers. And if talking about it made Bart uncomfortable, maybe it would also help to change his mood. Even if it changed it into one of anger.

Bret got cleaned up and into different clothes before Bart got to the room. "How about some dinner?" he asked brightly once Bart arrived.

"Not hungry," came the expected reply.

"Tough," was the answer. "We're goin' to dinner anyway. And we're gonna talk about Natchez and the way you left things."

Bart didn't answer, just took his gun belt off and put on a clean shirt, then hung the gun over the chair and fished his shoulder holster out of his bag. He slipped that over the shirt and made sure the derringer was loaded, then put his buckskin jacket back on. "Okay," he said, and obediently followed Bret out the door.

"How much longer you gonna be like this?"

Bart looked up at his brother but his expression never changed. "Until I'm not."

"You know she wasn't the right woman for you, don't you?"

"Yep."

"That she still loved her husband?"

"Yep."

"That it worked out the way it was supposed to?"

"Yep."

Bret stopped in the hallway and Bart almost ran into him. "Then what's the problem?"

Bart looked his brother right in the eyes and said only two words. "Althea Taylor."

"It's not the same thing," Bret insisted.

"How is it different?" Bart asked, genuinely confused.

"It's just . . . . . it's just . . . . . oh, I don't know. It just is."

Almost a year ago Bret had been living with recently widowed Althea Taylor, crazy in love with her, when she fell in love with his childhood friend Simon Petry and agreed to marry Simon. Bret had found them . . . . well, he'd found them together, and he left Little Bend, Texas as fast as his legs would carry him. Now Bart had been through an eerily similar situation and expected Bret to understand the emotions that entailed. _'How quickly they forget,'_ Bart thought as Bret just grimaced at him.

"Look, I know it's painful. It hurts like hell. But you don't talk, you don't eat, you don't sleep, and you're drivin' me crazy tryin' to figure out what to do for you."

"Don't aggravate me," the younger of the two brothers suggested.

"What am I supposed to do, just let you wallow in misery?"

"Yeah, that's it exactly. I'm not ready to talk about it."

"What will you talk about?" Bret prodded as they were seated in the hotel dining room.

"Anything else."

"Alright, did you sell Belle Amour before we left?" Bart had originally intended to sell the parlor house before he could be pulled into the . . . ladies . . . . complicated lives. Too late, as he'd been severely injured the night after winning the brothel in a poker game, and things got worse from there on.

"Nope. I gave it to Emily so she wouldn't have to . . . . keep working there after the baby came." Emily was already with child when Bart won the house and the business itself.

"I thought you were gonna sell it."

Bart shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't have the time, I just wanted to leave as fast as possible. Emily agreed to take the job as manager, and I just signed everything over to her."

' _Generous to a fault,'_ Bret thought, but out loud he said, "Good. At least you don't have to go back there."

"No," Bart answered, and there was a faraway look in his eyes. "I don't have to go back there."

"How much money do you have left?"

"Money? Oh, enough to get into this game. Why? Do you need some?"

They'd spent money in Natchez like they had it, living in a suite at the Chez Natchez and buying new clothes; Bart had even purchased a small house for Emily long before he 'gave' her the business. To say nothing of the expenditures on food and clothing for the ladies at the parlor house. Wasn't that what money was for, to spend it?

"No, no, I don't need any money. I just wanted to make sure you had some left."

They were seated in the dining room and when Bret discovered the nightly special was pot roast and mashed potatoes he ordered two, both with coffee. Bart sat and watched his brother, so determined to force him back to the land of the living, and finally had to smile. Bret saw the change in facial expression and smiled himself. "Bout time you looked happy about something. You've still got me, ya know."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Bart answered.

From across the room a man dressed all in black sat and watched the two brothers interact with each other and wondered, were these the men that the future of the Republic of Texas depended on?


	2. Mistaken Identity

Chapter 2 – Mistaken Identity

Bart finally admitted that he was a little bit hungry and ate about half of his dinner. He did manage to drink three cups of coffee, and to his brother that was a good sign. He wasn't back to being his usual self, but there was no tension between the two of them like there'd been before.

"There's a saloon next door," Bart mentioned when they'd finished their meal.

"Yeah, Lil's," Bret answered. "You wanna go over and see what people in this town do for recreation?"

"Might as well, It's too early to go to bed. I can't sleep in an empty bed, anyway."

"It's not empty. I'm in it."

"Domino didn't snore. And it's your turn to pay for dinner."

They bantered back and forth like that for a few minutes before leaving to go to Lil's. The man in black watched them and couldn't begin to imagine they were the two men he was looking for – yet they fit the descriptions. And the men he was waiting for were two days late, and had to pass through Littlewood before making their way to Laredo. He was forced to assume he had the right men.

The group in Laredo had sent him here to intercept the gun runners when they arrived and make sure they got to Laredo without any harm befalling them. They were vitally important to help further the cause, and it was his job to protect them until they could be safely assimilated into the fold. Laredo was right on the border of Texas and Mexico, and the unrest and dissension had long been fermenting. There were many, many Texians and Mexicans alike who wanted to see Texas resume its rightful place as a sovereign nation. That would mean secession from the United States once again, but this time to stand alone permanently as the Republic of Texas.

To do that, they needed two things: men and weapons. The group of secessionists could supply the bodies if they had weapons. The gun runners could supply the weapons. But there was another group already at work in Laredo, and they opposed the reemergence as a Republic. They were determined to keep the gun runners from reaching Laredo and aiding in the start of another armed conflict. Thus the man in black had been dispatched to 'protect' the two men that had just left for the saloon. He quickly paid his bill and followed them next door.

XXXXXXXX

The two gamblers, of course, had no earthly idea what trouble their physical descriptions were about to get them into. The man in black had been told they were "Tall, slim and looked alike. They're brothers. One black-haired, one brown-haired. Cigar smokers and expert poker players."

The saloon was loud and noisy, the way saloons are supposed to be, and neither noticed when the black-clad man entered shortly after they did. Both had found poker games and settled in to play, unaware of his presence.

Bret played until midnight and then decided he'd had enough and excused himself from the game. He walked past his brother, who was in the middle of a hand, and patted him on the shoulder. That was their 'good-night I've had enough' signal. Now the man in black was torn. Did he follow the black-haired one back to the hotel, or stay with the lighter-haired one? His instincts told him to go back to the hotel; thus, he did. It would prove to be the wrong move.

As soon as Bret made it safely to his room, the man in black backtracked to Lil's and walked through the batwing doors, expecting to find the second gun runner exactly where he'd left him, at the poker table. The chair was empty. He looked all around the saloon, but the man was nowhere in sight. "Excuse me," he asked, "do you know where my friend went?"

"Maverick?" one of the other poker players asked. "Said he was goin' out for a smoke."

"Thanks, friend," the stranger added and went back outside. The street was empty, everything outside of the saloon looked deserted. There was no sign of the second gun runner anywhere. What had the cowboy at the poker table called him? Maverick? Strange name to use, but he didn't know what the real name was. And just where could he have gone that quickly?

XXXXXXXX

Bart finished the hand and decided maybe his brother had the right idea. He was tired enough that he could probably sleep tonight, especially after putting some kind of food in his belly, and picked up his winnings and said good-night to his fellow players. He walked outside and put his foot up on the low sidewalk railing, pulled out a cigar and looked for a match. From out of the darkness somebody offered him one and he turned towards it to light the cigar. And that's when the gun butt hit him across the back of the head and knocked him to the ground and out.

Two men picked him up and carried him off the street and down an alley, then into an empty store that they'd broken into earlier. He was dumped on the floor and his hands were tied behind his back. The man that had knocked him out then proceeded to tie a gag around his mouth, just in case he woke up in an uncooperative mood. The man that had struck the match, John Lester by name, looked down at their prisoner. "Don't look like no gun runner I've ever seen. Don't even have a gun belt on."

The second man, Danny Baker, grunted in response. "Don't care what he looks like, Lee said to snatch him and hold him, so that's what we're doin'."

"You got any idea why?" the first man asked.

"Yeah, to stop that bunch a crazies from gettin' enough guns to start another war."

"Huh? How's snatchin' somebody we never seen gonna stop a war?"

Danny sighed. He'd already explained this to John, now he was going to have to explain it again. "This here hombre's a gun runner, see? And his partner's his brother. That bunch a rabble rousers in Laredo's waitin' for the two of 'em to get there so's they can make a deal for guns."

"Yeah, so?"

"So by snatchin' this one we can stop the other one from sellin' 'em any."

Understanding seemed to dawn in John's eyes. "Oh, you mean hold this one hostage so's the other one don't sell 'em no guns."

Danny shook his head. "That's it, exactly."

"But why's that gonna stop the other one?'

"They're brothers, John. We threaten to kill this one if the other one goes through with the deal."

"Oh. Oh, I see. So then the Texas Republic rebels don't get no guns."

"Now you got it."

"So whatta we gonna do with this one?"

"Kill 'im eventually, I guess. Whatever Lee tells us to do. For now, nothin'."

And they sat down to wait for their next instructions.

XXXXXXXX

Bret woke up about four o'clock to see if his brother was sitting in the chair by the window watching the street. He was pleased to see the chair was empty. So was the bed, and Bart's holster still hung where he'd left it before they went to dinner. Well, at least that was an improvement. Bart was still playing poker. Better than staring out into the blackness, waiting for relief that doesn't come. Bret listened to the nighttime noises for a minute, to see if anyone was coming down the hall, but there were no footsteps outside. Oh well, it wouldn't be the first time they'd ridden all day and played poker all night. Bart would be tired enough by the time they got to Laredo that he might actually spend a night in bed, sleeping. Bret rolled over and closed his eyes again, and in just a minute he was snoring.


	3. In Too Deep

Chapter 3 – In Too Deep

Bret woke with a start and instinctively reached a hand over to the opposite side of the bed. His hand grasped nothing but sheet and his eyes searched the room. No brother anywhere.

He sat up on the bed, instantly startled into being completely awake. Where in the hell was Bart? Bret couldn't believe that his brother was still playing poker, whatever time of the morning it was. He reached over to the table next to the bed and picked up his watch. Nine o'clock. Something was wrong, he could feel it. Quickly he got out of bed and got dressed, worrying about what might have happened. The last thing he did before putting his hat on was strap on his gun belt, just in case.

He hurried down the stairs and into the dining room, but Bart wasn't there, either. He backtracked and slipped out the front door before the man sitting in the corner had a chance to get up. The trip to Lil's took seconds, but there was no one in the saloon save for the bartender. Bret didn't expect any help there; he wasn't the same man that had been behind the bar last night. He whirled around so quickly that he bumped into the man that was following him. The man in black had changed into different clothes and needed a shave, but there was something vaguely familiar about him to the gambler.

"Sorry," the stranger mumbled and started to walk into the saloon, but Bret grabbed him by the arm and stopped him.

"You were here last night. Watching us."

"Not me," the man muttered and attempted to loose his arm from Bret's grip.

"Yeah, you. You were dressed all in black. Where's my brother?"

"You got the wrong man, mister." Again he tried to escape the gambler's grip.

"No, I don't. And if you don't tell me what you know about my brother, we can go visit the sheriff and see what he has to say about it."

"Alright, alright, I'll tell ya what I know. Let's go someplace where everybody in this town can't hear us."

"Inside," Bret accommodated him, and shoved his shadow through the batwing doors of the saloon. "Sit," he commanded next, and almost dropped the man into a chair. He turned his head towards the man behind the bar. "Barkeep, two coffees, please." The bartender obliged him, and delivered two cups of coffee.

As soon as they were alone, Bret growled at his 'guest,' "I have a headache, I'm hungry, and my brother's missing. Talk."

"He really is your brother?"

"So my parents told me. You got a name?'

"Travers. Quentin Travers."

Bret sat for another minute, taking a sip of coffee, before losing patience again. "Quit stalling. Where's Bart?"

"His name's Bart?"

"Five, four, three, two . . . . . . "

"I was followin' ya both. I was supposed to see that ya got to Laredo safe."

"You seemed to have failed. Why? Who and what happened?"

"Because the group that sent for the two of ya wanted to make sure ya got there without that damn state's rights group stoppin' ya, or worse."

"What group that sent for us? What are you talkin' about?"

Quentin looked at the gambler and wondered. Did he have the wrong man? No, he reasoned, the descriptions were too perfect. The gun runner was probably just being careful. "You don't have to pretend with me, Mr.- what name were you using? Maverick? Mr. Maverick. I'm part of the Republic of Texas. The group that sent for you and your brother. To buy guns from you, of course."

' _What? What the hell is he talkin' about?'_ was all that went through Bret's mind for a moment, and then realized that his brother's life might very well depend on how he reacted. "Alright. So where's my brother?"

"That seems to be the question. I followed ya last night when ya left the saloon, then hurried back down here to keep track of him. By the time I got back he was gone."

"Then find him."

Quentin took off his hat and brushed his hair back. "I think the Texas state's rights group may have him."

That made even less sense than everything Bret had heard so far. "Who are they?"

"The bunch that wants to prevent us from seceding from the Union and becoming an independent Republic again. "

"Uh-huh." Oh Lord, what had they stumbled into? And worse yet, how had they stumbled into it? "So how did you know we were the gun runners?"

"I had a description of the two of ya."

"And that was?" Bret asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"Tall, slim and resemble each other. Brothers. One black-haired, one brown-haired. Cigar smokers and expert poker players. But you were supposed to be here two days ago. What happened?"

"Uh, we ran into an unforeseen problem. But we're here now, only one of us is missing. We have to find Bart."

"We can't wait here. I have to get you to Laredo."

"Oh no, Travers. That is your name, right? We're not goin' anywhere without my brother."

"But we – "

"Oh, no. No buts. No Bart, no guns. It's that simple. Understand?" Whatever kind of mess this was, Bret was going nowhere before they found his brother.

"Ok. You got a first name or do I just call you Maverick?"

The gambler smiled for the first time. "Bret. Call me Bret."

XXXXXXXX

The first thing Bart did was try to open his eyes, but his head hurt so bad it was almost impossible. Finally he managed to get the right one open, then the left one, and he groaned as soon as he realized he had a gag in his mouth. He could see daylight streaming in through the broken glass of a window, and two shapes that took a while to come into focus. Neither one was his brother, and he didn't recognize either of them.

They were sitting on what used to be the floor over near the corner, and one had a coffee cup in his hand. They both looked to be about thirty years old and were dressed like cowhands. One was scruffy and dark haired, with a mustache and plenty of facial hair. The other was lighter in coloring and clean shaven. Neither had anything to distinguish them from anybody else on the planet. They were talking to each other, and Bart did his best to hear what they were saying.

The dark headed one was complaining. "So we're just supposed to sit here and wait until we get orders from Lee?"

The clean shaven one answered, "Yep, John, just like I told you before. We don't do nothin' with 'im until we get instructions. You know what happens when we don't do things right."

The one named John shuddered. "Yeah, I don't ever wanna go through that again. I spose that means we gotta keep 'im alive, huh?"

"You mean as in feed 'im?"

John nodded. "I could use some food, too, Danny."

"Then go get it. I'll stay here an babysit."

"Yeah? You want anything?"

Danny thought for a minute. "You goin' to the diner?"

"Yep," John answered.

"Bring me one a those things they do with bacon. Bring him one, too. And some coffee."

John got up and left via the back door. Danny looked over and saw that Bart's eyes were open, and came over to where the gambler lay. "You're awake, huh? Sorry about the head last night. Thought maybe you wouldn't come voluntarily."

Bart tried to roll over and found his hands tied behind his back. John didn't seem the kind that would untie him, so he just stared at his captor.

"I'll take the gag off if you'll keep yer mouth shut. Make one sound an ya get the gun butt and the gag again. Understand?"

Bart nodded as best he could. John approached carefully and removed the gag from Bart's mouth, then backed away from him quickly and pulled out his gun. "We clear about how you're gonna behave?"

'Yeah," Bart answered. "Where are we?"

"In town. This place was abandoned a long time ago. Nobody comes back here no more."

"Why?" That seemed the most pressing question to the gambler.

John just shook his head. "To stop yer brother from what he's goin' to Laredo to do."

"To play in a poker game?"

A laugh emanated from his captor's mouth. "A poker game. That's a good one. That's what you'd like us to believe, ain't it?"

"Uh, well . . . . . . "

"We know, Maverick. That's what ya call yerself, ain't it? And you pass yerselves off as poker players, huh? Tin horns? Card sharps? Pretty good cover for gun runners, huh?"

"GUN . . . . . . runners. Is that who we're supposed to be?"

John laughed a little. "You must think we're real rubes, huh? That's what we know you are. And we aim to stop ya before ya supply them secession crazies with guns."

"Guns? Secession? Who are you people?"

"We're the states' rights group, that's who we are. We ain't gonna let nobody drag us outta the United States of America. Not you, yer brother, or all the Texians in the world. Ya hear?"

' _Oh my God,'_ thought the wounded gambler _. 'What have we gotten into this time?'_


	4. Baby Steps

Chapter 4 – Baby Steps

John Lester returned to the hideout with coffee and food and was surprised to find their captive awake and talking. "You trusted him enough to take off the gag?" he questioned his partner.

"We have an understanding," came the reply. "He makes any noise, it'll be real painful." He turned to Bart. "Isn't that right, Maverick?" There was no answer, just a nod.

"Whatta ya gonna do about him eatin'? You gotta untie him."

"I'll eat first. When I'm done we can untie him. He moves the wrong way, we can both shoot 'em."

That seemed reasonable to Lester. "Alright. Long as you do the explainin' to Lee if somethin' happens."

"Yes, yes," Danny answered between bites.

Bart was more than willing to cooperate; his ribs hurt from having his arms pulled behind him and he was hungry. He wasn't about to do anything that might get him shot. Besides, he needed to find out more about this Republic of Texas group that wanted secession from the Union. And how he and Bret were supposedly involved.

"So what's my brother's part in all this?" he asked John while Danny ate.

"Didn't he fill you in on the deal?"

"Nope. I was havin' . . . . . uh . . . . woman problems at the time. He just told me we were goin' to Laredo to play poker."

"And you went along with him?"

"Uh, woman problems? I was glad to leave those behind." Part of that was actually true. "Besides, he handles most of the business dealings. He was supposed to explain everything to me on the ride to Laredo."

"And that was alright with you?"

"It was until I woke up here." That was all true.

"Can I tell him, Danny?"

"Sure, why not. It ain't gonna happen, anyway."

Lester sat down to tell the story. "There's this here group wants to pull Texas back out of the Union and be a Republic again. It's a bunch a Texians and Mexican Nationals, along with some southern good ole' boys that want it to happen. They don't like what's gone on with cattle prices an government regulations, and figure they can get a better deal if they're an independent nation. So they started gettin' everybody worked up about seceedin'. They got enough willin' to fight for it, but they got no weapons. That's where yer brother comes in. They want big stuff; Gatlin' guns and cannons an as many shotguns and rifles as they can get their hands on. He's got access to that kinda stuff, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Bart answered. He would have thought both of his captors crazy, but they were supposedly the sane people in this fight. "So what's your part in all this?"

"Us? We just want the crazies to quit stirrin' folks up an leave well enough alone. If they can't get no weapons, there's no fight. We gotta stop you an yer brother from supplyin' weapons to them Texas Republic folks."

"And the best way to do that is to hold onto you until yer brother agrees 'no deal.' Unless he don't care none about you," Danny explained as he finished his food and came over to untie Bart. "Put yer gun on 'im, John."

Lester did as he was told and Danny untied Maverick, backing away from him as soon as the ropes were loosened. A second gun was pointed at Bart, but he knew there was no chance of escape at this moment and was more interested in getting the circulation back in his arms. Danny handed him the breakfast John brought back, along with a cup of coffee, and Bart had no trouble eating. Funny how your appetite works when you've been deprived of food.

"So let me get this straight. I'm the insurance you're gonna use to make sure the Republic of Texas folks get no weapons, right? How much are they payin' for all the firepower they want, anyway?"

"Don't know for sure, but I heard over twenty thousand dollars," John replied.

Bart took another bite of whatever it was they'd given him and shook his head. "What if it doesn't work, fellas? That's an awful lotta money, and my brother sure does like money."

Danny's answer made Bart stop in mid-bite. "Then I guess we got no choice but to kill ya."

"Okay, boys, I think that's takin' things a little far, don't you? If you kill me, you got no leverage at all with Bret."

"That the name he's usin'? Bret? And whatta we call you?" John asked, curious at last.

"Bart. Call me Bart."

"Easy to remember. Sounds like brothers."

"What's your next move?" Bart asked, figuring them to probably contact his brother with the 'ransom' demand.

"Don't know until we hear from Lee. He's the head of the group."

"Don't you think you ought to – "

"That's enough, Maverick. We don't need your ideas." Danny seemed to be the man in charge, at least as far as he and John went.

"Let's hear what he has to say," John suggested unexpectedly.

Baker finally shrugged his shoulders and nodded. "Alright, go ahead."

"Don't you think you might wanna contact my brother and let him know what you expect from him?"

The two kidnappers exchanged looks. After a minute Danny admitted it was probably the right move. "We'll send him a note."

"One of ya has to deliver it." Now Bart was thinking. If he could get one of them out of the abandoned building he had a better chance of escaping. He was hoping that Danny would take it. John seemed to be the more even-tempered of the two, and he thought getting away might be easier.

"Alright - you write the note," Danny instructed Bart.

"Paper? Pen?'

John and Danny looked at each other. "Uh, we don't have either one."

"The hotel," Bart suggested. "They'll have both."

Danny stood up. "I'll go. I need to stretch my legs, anyway. Keep him covered and shoot him if he tries anything."

John nodded, and Baker went to retie Bart's hands. "Look, I just had some broken ribs. Can ya tie my hands in front instead?"

"So you can get away? I don't think so."

Well, it had been worth a try. Bart grimaced as his arms were pulled backward again, and he did everything he could to buy himself looser bindings. This time there was just a little bit of give in the rope, and Bart hoped he could work the knots loose. He turned ever so slightly, making it more difficult for John to see his hands, and started subtly laboring on the bindings.

Danny gave John some quiet instructions and then went out the back door. John chose the corner closest to Bart and settled down to 'guard' the captive, not paying much attention to the gambler. Bart was lucky; it only took him a few minutes to work the knots in the rope loose before he was free. Now all he had to do was wait for the right moment.

XXXXXXXX

He wasn't quite sure how, but Bret had convinced Quentin they should split up to look for Bart. He headed in the opposite direction of his self-proclaimed protector, straight for the sheriff's office. He needed information on the real gun runners and he needed it fast.

The sheriff was keeping himself occupied by reading the latest 'Wanted' posters and was more than ready for an interruption of any kind. So when the tall, dark stranger wandered into his office he was more than happy to answer any and all questions that came his way.

"Sheriff, I'm tryin' to find out all I can about a couple of men that operate in Texas and the south – they pretend to be gamblers but they're actually gun runners and I don't know what else. Rumor is they're brothers. Got any information on 'em?"

"Mr.?"

"Joseph. Bret Joseph."

"You a bounty hunter, Mr. Joseph?"

"I've been known to collect a reward or two in my time." That was the truth. Neither brother was adverse to receiving a reward for something, as long as they didn't have to go too far out of the way to get it. A reward is what had propelled them to Natchez in the first place.

"Well, let's see, Mr. Joseph, I do believe I can be of some help. Sounds like you're talkin' about the Radson brothers – Geoff and Henry. They've been known to do a little bit a everything – includin' runnin' guns illegally. Only problem is yer a little late – I heard tell they got caught in San Antone a week or so ago. Talk is they was headed this way at the time. Folks thought they was comin' down to work with the Texas Republic bunch down in Laredo – at least that was the speculation. So if yer after them yer outta luck."

"Anything else you can tell me about 'em, Sheriff? Descriptions, anything, just in case the rumors aren't true."

"Wait, here, I got a wanted poster somewhere. You got a minute, Mr. Joseph? Sit down while I look for it."

Bret saw a coffee pot on a stove in the corner and noticed the sheriff had an empty cup on his desk. "Coffee, Sheriff?"

"Sure. Pour yourself a cup." Bret wandered over to the pot and did just that, then brought it back and filled the sheriff's cup. "Thanks, son. Nah, not that one. Or that one. Dang it, I got it here somewhere." Bret sat back down and waited patiently. "Ah, here it is. Say, you could pass for the oldest one if ya don't look too close." He handed the poster to Bret, who took it curiously.

The sheriff was right. Bret could pass for the oldest Radson brother; that would be Geoff, according to the wording below the photo. The youngest brother, Henry, didn't look that much like Bart, but he had the same build – tall and thin. Henry had a mustache, Bart was clean-shaven. And there was something about Henry's face – it was almost cruel looking, instead of Bart's generally happy countenance. Bret studied the poster for a few minutes while he drank his coffee and listened to his stomach growl. He still hadn't gotten any food. He handed the poster back to the sheriff, finally, and shook his head.

"Glad it's not me," he told the sheriff before standing up and offering to shake hands. "Thanks for the information, sheriff, it's appreciated. Guess I'll have to find somebody else to look for." He turned towards the office door and then had a thought and turned back. "Say, have you noticed anybody new in town? Somebody you haven't seen here before?"

"Besides you, ya mean?"

Bret laughed at the irony. "Yeah, besides me."

"Well, let's see, there's a couple a cowboys turned up two or three days ago. Seen 'em twice at the café and once down at the livery, askin' Charlie questions. They're not stayin' at the hotel, though, I already checked. There's some old, abandoned stores behind Main Street, saddle tramps an the bad element passin' through usually finds one a those to sleep in. You lookin' for one in particular?"

"Might be. What'd they look like?" Bret was grasping at straws but he had no viable leads.

"Uh, let's see. Scruffy, dark haired, mustache and beard. He looked like the older one. The other one had lighter hair, clean shaven. Looked like every other saddle tramp comes through here, goin' to or comin' from Laredo. Nothin' much to distinguish either one of 'em. You know where I am if ya need somethin'."

"Yep, I do. Thanks again, sheriff." And this time, Bret made it back out through the front door.


	5. Of Mustaches and Men

Chapter 5 – Of Mustaches and Men

Bret was about fifteen feet past the sheriff's office when he noticed Quentin emerging from the hotel. He looked frantically up and down the street, and as soon as he saw Bret he came running. "In the hotel; I just saw one of the state's rights people. He was sniffin' around the writin' desk in the lobby."

' _Writing desk?'_ thought Bret. _'Could Bart have convinced them -_ '

His thoughts were interrupted by Quentin talking. "Whatta ya think he's doin'?"

"I think my brothers talked them into sendin' a ransom note. That's what I woulda done. Either he was there to deliver it, or he was lookin' for somethin' to write one on."

Travers grabbed Bret without warning and pulled him into a doorway. "That's him, comin' out now."

' _Typical saddle tramp,'_ thought Bret. _'Just like the sheriff described him.'_

"Where's he headed?"

"Down an alley between the buildings."

"There's some abandoned buildings back there. Perfect place to hide a hostage."

Travers looked confused. "How do you know that?"

"Is that important?" Bret asked. "Come on, let's go find my brother."

XXXXXXXX

' _All I need is a few more minutes,'_ Bart thought. _'He's almost asleep.'_

The gambler was right, John Lester had fallen into just the trap he wanted. A full belly, a warm morning, boredom, and the urgent need to stay awake. It was a deadly combination, or in this case, a perfect one.

Bart shifted slightly and waited to see if John acknowledged the movement in any way. He didn't. The gambler slowly got into a crouching position, ready to sneak forward and overwhelm his sleeping guard. He moved slowly, quietly, and crept ever closer, until he stood over the man that had held him captive since last night. Carefully he reached for the gun in John's hand and had just taken possession of it when the back door to the building opened. Bart swung around and pulled the hammer back, ready to shoot, and found himself staring into the face of the last man he expected to see – his brother.

"Couldn't wait for me, huh?"

Bart stood up and shifted the gun barrel to John's direction. "You get his partner?"

"Yep. Caught him as he came around the corner." Quentin Travers appeared in the doorway behind Bret and Bart shifted the gun that way.

"Who's this?"

Bret pointed his gun at John. "Put it down. He's with me. Let's get this one tied up, too."

Bart backed away from Lester and retrieved the rope he'd been bound with. "Got the rope already. Have a nice sleep?" Bart asked, as Bret's new 'friend' came in and yanked John to his feet. He took the rope from Bart and proceeded to secure Lester's hands behind him. "What the heck is goin' on?" Bart asked his brother quietly, and Bret simply smiled and said "Later."

When Quentin was done the three men marched John outside to where they'd left Danny Baker tied up. Leaving the gag in Baker's mouth, the two state's rights men were taken down to the sheriff's office. "I think we better do this one by ourselves, Quentin," Bret told Travers, and the secessionist nodded and stayed outside.

'Well, Mr. Joseph, that was quick. I see you brought me the two men I told you about. What are they wanted for?" the sheriff asked as he stood up and walked to open a cell.

"Assault and kidnapping," Bart answered. "Of me."

"And may I ask who you are, sir?" the sheriff asked.

"My brother," Bret answered.

The sheriff looked confused as he ushered John and Danny into a cell and then closed the door. He untied John through the bars and told him, "Take care of your partner, there." The sheriff looked at Bret and Bart. "Come up front."

When they got back to his desk, the sheriff pointed to the chairs. "Sit down and explain this to me. Why didn't you tell me you were lookin' for your brother when you came in earlier, Mr. Joseph?"

Bret shrugged. "Sorry, just in the habit of doin' things myself. Once you described those two and told me where they might be, I just took care of it."

"And why did they 'kidnap' you, Mr. Joseph?"

"They thought I was somebody else," Bart explained.

"Uh-huh. Henry Radson, by any chance?"

"That's right, Sheriff. They saw us together and just assumed we were the Radsons," Bret answered instead. Bart looked at his brother questioningly but said nothing.

"Are you willing to sign a complaint against them, Mr. Joseph?" The sheriff asked Bart.

"You bet I will."

It took almost an hour to get the report written and the complaint completed, then Bart signed the paperwork and they were done for the time being.

As the brothers got up to leave, Bart grabbed Bret's arm. "Who's our new friend outside?"

"His name's Quentin Travers. He's – "

"Let me guess. A member of the Republic of Texas group."

"Bright boy. He's our new bodyguard."

"Wonderful," Bart remarked. "Thanks for the save, by the way."

Bret threw his arm across Bart's shoulders. "Glad to help, Henry."

"What?"

Bret just smiled. "I'll explain it when we get back to the hotel. I'm starvin'. How about some food?"

XXXXXXXX

Quentin consented to eat but insisted that he sit at a different table so he could 'protect' them from a repeat of what Bart had just been through. Bret sighed with relief, knowing he could at least give Bart a preliminary explanation of the unexpected string of events.

He was surprised to find that his brother knew almost as much about the two opposing groups as he did. Bret had heard the story from the secessionists side, Bart from the state's rights group. Bret then proceeded to fill Bart in on what he learned from the sheriff about the Radsons.

"So that's all it was? Travers thought we were the Radsons?" Bart asked while drinking coffee.

"Not just Travers. Lester and Baker, too. And I saw the wanted poster the sheriff had. I look enough like Geoff Radson that we're gonna have the same problem again."

"What about me?" Bart asked, curious about his similarity to Henry.

"Same build. Henry's got a mustache. But otherwise, no, not so much."

"I don't know if that's good or bad."

"Depends on whether we go on to Laredo or not." Bret felt better, he'd finally gotten some food in him.

"We came all this way to play poker with Pappy and Uncle Ben. When have we ever turned tail and ran?"

Bret chuckled. "Every time we could. Does that mean you wanna go on?"

"Sure. Somebody's gotta stop these crazy people from killin' each other." Now even Bart was smiling.

"Oh no. I'm not gettin' any more involved with that bunch than we already are."

"You're the one that got us into this mess, Brother Bret. The least we can do is see it through to some kinda conclusion."

Bret was indignant. "Me? What did I do?" Bart was enjoying his brother's discomfort. How many times had Bret asked him "How did we get into this mess?"

"You look too much like Geoff Radson. And you played right along with Travers' delusions."

"That's not my fault. I had to find out what happened to you."

"I was just about to get myself out of the mess. We goin' to Laredo or not?"

Bart could see his brother's mind working, trying to figure out just how much more trouble they could get into if they persisted. It was a challenge to their ingenuity, and Bart knew it. And when push came to shove, Bret might run from a fight, but not a challenge. "Alright, let's go."

Bart had one more dig to throw in before they went and packed their things. "Wonder how I'd look with a mustache?"


	6. The Appearance of Geoff Radson

Chapter 6 – The Appearance of Geoff Radson

So now the party of two riding on to Laredo was a party of three. Quentin Travers followed Bret and Bart at a short distance as additional protection, just to make sure they arrived without further incident. Bart laughed more than once at the entire 'Republic versus State' controversy, but Bret was worried about the potential trouble.

It took them the rest of the day to get to Laredo; it was dark by the time they arrived in town. They'd been here before, when they'd traveled through to get to Nuevas Piedras. That stay lasted all of one night and part of a day, and then they were off again. This one would be for a longer period of time, and they were supposed to meet their father and uncle at the Laredo City Hotel.

Quentin left them outside the hotel and promised he would be back within the hour, but they got unexpected news when they checked in. There was a message waiting for them from the telegraph office – Pappy and Ben had been delayed and wouldn't be arriving until Friday, the end of the week. One day before the poker game started.

They got their standard accommodations, one room that they shared, and went upstairs to settle in and rest for a while. Bart hung up the two black silk waistcoats he'd purchased in Natchez and thought about everything that happened after he had them made. Bret watched as his brother looked wistfully at the new vests, and realized his mind was on Domino and everything he'd left behind. "Hey, Brother Bart, how about some supper? I seem to remember this place serves Texas pecan pie." He knew how Bart was feeling, having been through something similar not too many months before they'd ended up in Natchez. "I might even be persuaded to have a glass of wine with ya, if ya ask real nice."

The last remark caused Bart to smile slightly. He knew exactly what his brother was trying to do – keep his mind off Domino. He should refer to her the way he needed to now. . . . . . keep his mind off Mrs. Hawkins. Bret was right, the less he thought about her the faster he'd forget her. No, not forget her. Get over her. There was a difference.

He'd gone up to their suite in the Chez Natchez that day not entirely sure of what he was going to do. He was in love with her . . . . . he had no doubt of that. She loved him, too . . . . . but, she was still in love with the husband that had abandoned her, the man he found standing in the Maverick suite with Domino in his arms. And when he saw the way she looked at her husband his heart broke. Bret had been doing his absolute best for the past two weeks to take his mind off . . . . . Mrs. Hawkins. But no matter how hard he tried he wasn't successful. In fact, nothing was until Bart was hit over the head by Danny Baker and John Lester, tied up and drug into an abandoned building to be held as a hostage. And all because of a case of mistaken identity.

But he did appreciate the effort that Bret made . . . . and the fact that whenever he needed his brother, his best friend, big brother was always there. So he turned to Bret with that slight smile still on his face and said, "Sure. Let's go get supper . . . . and that glass of wine."

It pleased Bret to see Bart make the effort, even if that's all it was, an effort. His younger brother was hurting, and he knew it. But he'd at last taken a step in the right direction, and Bret wanted to do all he could to encourage that forward progress. Bret swung his arm around Bart's shoulders and walked him out the door.

XXXXXXXX

They were in the middle of a steak dinner, trying to forget about the trouble they'd had in Littlewood, when Quentin Travers walked into the dining room. And Quentin wasn't alone. There were two other men with him.

"Bret, Bart, sorry to interrupt your dinner. This is Lee Maxwell, the head of the Repub . . . . organization that sent for you. And Tommy Slade, another of our members. They were most anxious to meet you two, especially after I told them what happened in Littlewood."

Bret sighed and set down his glass. He was afraid this would happen, but he was hoping for a little more time before it did. "Gentlemen, would you care to join us while we finish our meal?"

Maxwell was the first to speak. "We're most anxious to talk to you, Mr. Radson."

In his most pleasant voice possible, Bret answered back, "The name is Maverick, Mr. Maxwell. And we're most anxious to finish our supper. You can wait or you can come back, but we're not leaving until we're done."

Bart would have laughed if he hadn't had a mouthful of food. Bret had just used his 'I'm the one in charge, by God' voice, which usually got him exactly what he wanted. He suppressed the urge and scowled instead, reinforcing the idea that he and Bret didn't appreciate being disturbed. Quentin noticed the change in expression and said something to Slade, who in turn told Maxwell. Whatever was said must have been convincing, because Maxwell removed his hat and changed tactics. "Certainly, Mr. Maverick, we'll wait for you in the lobby, if that's alright with you."

Bret nodded and the three men headed for the lobby of the hotel. Bart swallowed and looked over at his brother. "What do we do now, Geoff?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Damned if I know, Henry," Bret answered.

"Good thing those guys are on their way to Washington, in leg irons," Bart remarked. "I'd hate to have 'em turn up now; it could get a fella killed. I can't think of any way out of this right now. You?"

Bret shook his head. "Me either. I was countin' on Pappy and Ben to be here and have some kind of an idea. With them not gettin' here till Friday I don't know what to do. I guess we better play along with 'em until we can find a way around this problem."

"We?" Bart asked mischievously. "What do you mean we?"

"Come on now, Brother Bart . . . . . "

"See just how easy it is to get pulled into things, Brother Bret?"

Bret hung his head, pitifully. "Yeah, it is. Guess I hadn't really paid any attention to that. Can't ask you that question again."

"Which question would that be?"

Bret grinned and knew he was going to swallow his pride and admit to being a bit dense. "How did we get into this?"

Bart wanted to smile smugly but avoided it. He'd proven his point. "I agree, we need to keep up the pretense we're the Radsons. Let's go talk to the welcoming committee and see where that gets us."

XXXXXXXX

Bret's insistence that he and Bart be left alone to finish their meal seemed to have an unanticipated effect on Maxwell. Almost as if he'd surrendered the leadership of the group to an outside force – in his mind, Geoff Radson. Bret seemed not in the least hesitant to assume the role. Bart just stood back and watched his brother 'play' the part of the gun runner.

Bret reached out to shake hands with Maxwell, then Slade, and nodded to Travers. Bart tipped his hat to the three men. "Gentlemen, we have a lot to discuss. Does it really need to be tonight? It's been a long two days and we're both tired."

Lee Maxwell shook his head. "No, Mr., uh, Mr. Maverick. But it's most important to our organization that it be as soon as possible. Say, first thing tomorrow morning? Around eight?"

"As long as it's somewhere that's not so public."

"How about my ranch? Quentin can ride in and meet you at the livery. If that's alright with you."

"Fine. Tomorrow morning, Quentin? And thanks for the help back in Littlewood."

Travers nodded at Bret's acknowledgment and the five men went their separate ways.

Once back in their room Bart finally spoke up. "Ya handled that well, Geoff."

Bret bowed with a flourish. "Thank you, Henry."

Both brothers broke out laughing, but the humor quickly faded. "I hope tomorrow goes as well."

"So do I, Brother Bret. So do I."


	7. There's a Girl in My Soup

Chapter 7 – There's a Girl in My Soup

"It should be against the law to be up this early in the mornin'."

"Shhhh, I'm not awake yet."

"Now you sound like Doc," Bart told his brother, thinking of all the times Doc Holliday had complained about being awake early. Of course, Doc preferred the nights to the daytime, so his attitude was easy to understand.

"Say, I never thought about Doc," Bret remarked. "I bet he could get his hands on whatever the Republic needs."

"You're not actually thinkin' of providin' weapons to these crazies, are you?" Bart sounded almost shocked as he questioned his brother.

"OI course not," Bret answered indignantly.

"Well, that brilliant mind a yours better think up somethin' to get us outta this mess."

"I'm workin' on it," Bret answered.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Bret grinned and set his coffee cup down. "Yep. Why don't you come up with an idea?"

They were just finishing breakfast at Tiny's Café and getting ready to go to the livery to saddle the horses. Bart shrugged his shoulders and sucked in a breath. "I got nothin'."

"Ribs still botherin' you?" Bart had broken three ribs when he was run down by a horse and buggy their second night in Natchez.

"A little. They're gettin' better. We could just tell these people who we are, ya know."

"Yep. And then Pappy could put us up on the hill with momma and Aunt Abby." Bret was referring to the family graveyard in Little Bend where their mother and aunt were buried.

"Uh, no thank you. I gave up wantin' to die a while ago."

"I think we should find out everything we can about these Republic folks. Who they are, what they want, how many there are, where their money's comin' from, what they're intendin' to do with all this firepower. Maybe then we can come up with a plan."

Bart stood up from the table. "Your turn to pay. And it's time to get a move on if we're gonna be ready when Quentin gets here.'"

"It's always my turn to pay," Bret muttered under his breath. Out loud he said, "Okay. On my way," as he got up and followed his brother.

Five minutes later they were saddling Bret's stallion and Bart's gelding. They were almost done when Quentin Travers rode up, looking like he hadn't slept at all.

"Hey, Travers, you ever get to bed?" Bart asked.

"Nope," came Quentin's answer. "Couldn't sleep, all the arguin' and disagreements goin' on last night."

"What were they fussin' and fightin' about?"

"Everything. How many rifles, what kinda shotguns, where to start the fightin', how many men we needed, what it was gonna cost, why we needed you two, how much resistance the state government was gonna give us, and everything else you could think of."

"All your folks are serious, huh?" Bret asked.

"Isn't everybody that's tryin' to buy weapons?"

"You'd be surprised," Bart answered. "Some more than others. There was this outlaw gang . . . . "

"Bart. Quentin doesn't need to know all that."

Bart swung up on Noble and the horse snorted. "Yes, sir."

Bret finished checking his cinch and mounted. "Lead on," he announced to Quentin. The three men rode out of the livery and headed south, towards the Mexican border. About 20 minutes later they arrived at the L Bar M Ranch, Lee Maxwell's place, and followed Travers up to a good sized house. There were five or six horses tied out front, and a large corral with four or five more tied up there, besides the horses running loose.

"How many men are here now?" Bret asked.

"Oh, just five or six," Quentin told him. "And Miss Julie."

"Miss Julie?"

"Lee Maxwell's sister. Prettiest filly in Laredo."

Once they were inside the front door, it became as quiet as a church. All eyes turned towards the newcomers, and Maxwell got up from his seat by the fireplace and hurried over. A woman followed him, the aforementioned Julie. She had chocolate brown hair that hung straight to almost her waist, big brown eyes and wore pants. And carried a Remington Colt on her hip, just like her brother.

"Bret, Bart, welcome. This is my sister, Julie Maxwell. Julie, Bret and Bart Maverick. Let's see, you met Tommy, that's Sam Ford, Luther Baxter, Manuel Cardoza, Eddie Stanton, and Alex Cady. Everybody, this is, ah, Bret and Bart Maverick. At least today those are their names."

There was some soft laughter; everybody knew these were really the Radson brothers. Bret tipped his hat, Bart was more interested in kissing the back of Julie Maxwell's hand. _'Ah,'_ thought Bret, _'can't keep the boy down long. Thank God.'_

"Come in, gentlemen, and have a seat. Coffee for both of you?" Julie asked.

Both brothers answered, "Yes, ma'am," then found seats around the outside of the group. Lee Maxwell turned all his attention to Bret.

"Mr. Maverick. We've been having a discussion about what weapons we should concentrate on having you procure for us. This is what we would like to focus on accomplishing in the next few weeks – " and Maxwell went into a long explanation of what they were doing, how many men there were, and how spread out they were along the border.

Bart quickly lost interest and went to see if he could make himself useful helping Julie Maxwell. This was all Bret's show, he was just along as window dressing. She seemed pleased by his attention and poured a cup of coffee, which he took over to Bret, then returned for his cup. "Does he need you for anything?" Julie asked, indicating Bret.

"Nope. He's the one in charge," Bart answered.

"Take a walk with me?" Julie asked. For the first time in quite a while there was an attractive man here that she hadn't known her entire life, and she wanted the chance to talk to someone that might be interested in something other than guns or Texas independence.

"Sure," came the quick reply. No matter how bad his heart might hurt, Bart was never one to pass up a chance to get to know an attractive woman. Even if she did carry a gun. That just meant he had to be a little more careful around her.

Lee Maxwell was still filling Bret in on all the details of the proposed 'campaign' when he noticed that his sister Julie was missing from the room. Quickly he realized that Henry Radson was gone, too. That was the last thing he needed; Julie getting involved with the notorious gun runner. The man purportedly had a mean streak and was known to have killed someone just for looking at him the wrong way. He'd have a talk with Julie as soon as the 'meeting' broke up.

Bret was glad that Bart seemed to be a little more alive than he had been before they got to Littlewood. He'd been anxious about Bart, and wasn't sure if getting drug into this whole mistaken identity business would help or hinder his mental outlook. But a good looking woman . . . . that was an entirely different matter.

Bart followed Julie outside, taking his coffee with him. She waited for him to catch up once they got off the porch and started walking toward a stand of trees right past the house.

"Do you always travel with your brother?" she asked him.

"Most of the time," he told her. "You run the ranch with yours?"

"I used to. Now I run it mostly alone. Lee's all consumed with Texas independence."

"Oh? And how do you feel about it?"

"I think it should be left alone," Julie stated firmly. "But they've got themselves all convinced it's the only way. Where are you from, Mr. Maverick?"

He laughed awkwardly. He had no idea where the Radson brothers were from. "Oh, we were born in Texas. But home these days is wherever we are at the time."

"So how do you feel about Texas becoming a Republic again?"

"I never gave it any thought. Not until we were contacted to come down here, that is."

"And now?"

"I still have no opinion. I can't see Texas tryin' to secede again, quite frankly."

Julie stopped and leaned against a tree. "I can't either. I don't know what Lee and the others are thinkin'." She looked out across the landscape for a minute, and then had another question for Bart. "What are you doin' in a business like this?"

"Gun runnin'? Not my primary concern anymore. I'm kinda the afterthought, Bret handles most of the business dealin's. I like playin' poker better, anyway."

"I hear you're quite proficient."

"I hold my own. It's less dangerous, most a the time."

"Are you stayin' in town for the big games next week?" she finally asked.

Bart nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I'll be there."

"Good," Julie told him. "You can take me to dinner tomorrow night."

"Your brother won't have any objections to that?"

"You don't strike me as the kind of man that would care if he did."

He grinned at her then. Henry Radson certainly wouldn't. Bart Maverick didn't either. "Seven o'clock alright with you, Miss Maxwell?"

"Julie," she replied. "And seven o'clock is fine with me, Bart."


	8. Maverick Minds Think Alike

Chapter 8 – Maverick Minds Think Alike

They rode back to town one man light; Quentin stayed at the ranch. "So the independence talk bores ya, huh?" Bret asked.

"Compared to a beautiful woman, you betcha," Bart answered, and grinned to emphasize the point. "Besides, she's the one that asked me to go outside with her."

"Oh? And what else did she ask you to do?"

"Take her to dinner tomorrow."

Bret just shook his head. He still didn't know whether to be happy or worried about his brother and Lee Maxwell's sister. On one hand, Bart wasn't acting like his best friend died anymore; on the other hand that particular group of men was nothing to be fooled with. "I suppose ya said yes."

"Of course I did."

"Be extra careful. They may be crazy but they're serious crazy, not funny crazy."

"Understood. They got a snowball's chance in hell of pullin' this whole thing off?"

"I don't see how," Bret answered. "Sounds like they've only got 40 or 50 men, and they're sure not gettin' any guns from me. And even if they did, they couldn't get nowhere with that few men. States rights group got nothin' to worry about."

"You see any way around 'em yet?"

"Mmmmmmmm. That's a tough one. Outside a gettin' 'em all killed or thrown in jail, not yet. You come up with any ideas?"

"Nope, but I'll let ya know if I get any information outta Julie. I see a nap in my future. How about you?"

"Naw, I gotta do somethin'. There's another meetin' out at the ranch later tonight. I'll be back to the room later. Enjoy your sleep."

They'd returned their horses to the livery, and Bart headed back to the hotel. Bret waited until his brother was out of sight and then walked the opposite way down to the office of the Texas Rangers. The last time Bret had any dealings with the Rangers they were still called the Texas State Police, and it was while he was on his way to Mexico with Bart, Cousin Beau, and Doc Holliday to look for buried treasure. He inwardly chuckled at their encounter with Cody Howard, the Ranger that had come to the hotel dining room to ask why they were in Laredo. They'd left shortly after the incident and had no further contact with the Rangers or Howard.

Bret walked into the office and was stopped short at a rather young looking Ranger's desk that was placed prominently right inside the door. "Can I help you, mister?" the Ranger asked.

"Need to talk to whoever's in charge of this Republic of Texas mess," Bret replied, and watched as the young Ranger's eyes grew big.

"This way, Mr. - ?"

"Maverick," came the answer.

"Mr. Maverick, follow me, please." The Ranger jumped up and led Bret back to a room with nothing but a table and several chairs in it. "Ranger Templeton will be right in."

Bret took a seat and the young man closed the door. It was only two or three minutes and the door opened again, and an older, more weather-worn Ranger entered. He stood and offered his hand as he introduced himself. "Mr. Maverick, I'm Jack Templeton. I understand from Ranger Samich that you wanted to talk to someone about the Texas Republic people. Do you belong to the group, sir?"

They shook hands and Ranger Templeton sat down.

"No, I don't, but I've accidentally gotten involved with them. Let me explain." With that Bret began the tale of his and Bart's involvement, starting with the mistaken identification of them as the Radson Brothers. He related the whole story, including Bart's kidnapping and subsequent escape, up to their meeting this morning with the hierarchy of the group. The ranger sat and listened intently, shaking his head once or twice, asking a stray question now and again, until Bret had finished the story.

"Do you realize what a dangerous bunch you've fallen in with?"

"I haven't 'fallen in' with them, Ranger, I got dragged in kickin' and screamin' when they kidnapped my brother. We'd a been dead a while back if we hadn't played into their delusions."

Templeton thought about that for a moment, stroking his chin, before nodding. "You're right, I'm sure. What are you and your brother gonna do now?"

"That's why I came here this mornin'. I've got no idea what their legal status is, or what to do next. Any suggestions?" Bret threw it out there to see if Templeton had any ideas that might actually work.

The Ranger sat quietly for a minute and Bret hoped he was running probable scenarios through his head. Finally, Templeton spoke up. "Well, there's some problems right away. I'm not sure we've got any reason to arrest the Republic folks yet. They haven't committed treason, and they haven't really broken any laws so far. Talkin' to the Radsons ain't illegal. Ill-advised, yes, but we're all guilty of that at one time or another. Have they threatened you or your brother, or harmed either one of you in any way?"

Bret shook his head. "Nope. Not them. Only the states rights group."

"I've got an idea, but I'm not sure you'll like it." Templeton looked skeptical, at best.

"What's that?" _'I'm ready to listen to all ideas,'_ Bret thought.

"Keep up the charade until you can get in deep enough for us to break this ring up for good."

"Work for the Texas Rangers?"

Jack Templeton shook his head. "Not exactly for. More like with."

"I'd get disowned."

The ranger laughed. "By your brother?"

"My father."

"Might have a better chance of comin' outta all this alive."

Templeton was right, much as Bret hated to admit it. If he did anything to try and get out of this mess and the group he'd gotten in with got wise to his plan or if the leaders of the group weren't put away, they had plenty of ways to bring retribution down on the gambler – his uncle, his father, his brother. He didn't like the idea, especially when he realized he'd have to leave his family in the dark about his real intentions until it was all resolved. But no matter how he tried to work it out, he always came back to the same conclusion – it was turn tail and run right now and for who knows how long, or work with the Texas Rangers.

"Alright, I don't see any other way. Whatta ya want me to do?"

XXXXXXXX

Bart tried to sleep; he really tried. But something kept buzzing around in his head, and it wasn't gonna turn loose of him until he'd worked it out. And once he managed to do that, there was only one thing he could do to try and protect his brother from getting hurt or worse, killed. He got up and headed down to see the Texas Rangers. He had an intense dislike for lawmen, especially after some of the things he'd been through with them, but he was more inclined to trust the Rangers than anyone else he could think of.

So it was like déjà vu for the young Ranger that sat in the front of the office when the tall, good-looking gambler walked in and asked to speak to whoever was in charge of the Republic versus statehood battle that was currently raging. Once again a Maverick was led into the empty room, and once again he was greeted by Ranger Jack Templeton. Bart stood and reached across the table to shake hands with the ranger, telling the lawman as he did so, "My name's Bart Maverick, and I need to talk to you about - "

"The Republic of Texas sedition group," Templeton finished for him.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Bart asked curiously.

"You're Bret Maverick's brother, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah," came the swift reply.

"Do you two talk to each other?" Jack asked his newest acquaintance.

"When we have to," Bart answered, half-laughing. "Why?"

"Your brother was in here almost an hour ago to discuss the same subject."

"Bret?"

Templeton looked momentarily confused. "Do you have more than one?"

"Well, no," came the reply.

"Then it was Bret Maverick that was here."

"Why?"

"You'd have to ask him that, Mr. Maverick."

"Bart, please. He came to talk to you about the Texas Republic group, didn't he?"

"Well . . . . . . "

"And I'll bet you got strict instructions to not tell anybody else about it, didn't you."

"I don't think – "

"You don't have to give me any answers, Templeton. You already have. What I want to know is, what can I do to keep him from gettin' killed?"


	9. Anticipation

Chapter 9 – Anticipation

Bart opened the door to their room to find Bret lying in bed playing Maverick Solitaire. "Hey, I thought you were gonna take a nap?"

"I tried," Bart answered. "I couldn't sleep. So I got up and took a walk."

"Oh? Go anywhere in particular?"

"Nope. Just walked around until I got tired."

Bret looked up from the cards. "You goin' back out to the Maxwell ranch with me?"

"For another chance to see 'the prettiest filly in Laredo'? Sure."

"Alright. Supper about six?"

"When's the meetin'?"

"Eight o'clock."

Bart nodded his head. "Sounds good. Hey, how about movin' over to the table? I'd like to lay down now."

"Sure." Bret gathered his deck and moved to the table by the window. Bart took off his coat, hat and gun belt and lay down on the bed. Within five minutes he was asleep. There was a plan in place; maybe not the best plan but he didn't have to worry quite so much anymore, and he was worn out.

Bret played Maverick Solitaire when he needed to think about something, and that's what he was doing now. He'd talked to Jack Templeton for a long time after agreeing to work with the Rangers; Templeton gave him a lot of background information on the men that were at this morning's meeting. Tommy Slade had been Maxwell's ranch foreman until he was able to buy a small place of his own, but the declining government prices for beef were on the verge of running him out. Sam Ford was a neighboring rancher who hated any kind of government regulation, Luther Baxter's daughter had run off with a state's rights supporter, Manuel Cardoza had an Apache wife and the government wouldn't let him sell cattle to the Indians. Eddie Stanton trusted nobody, and Alex Cady was just plain loco.

The idea was to see if the group was actually going to buy weapons from 'Radson' and find out where they intended to use them. If that meant that 'Geoff Radson' had to commit to being a supportive member of the Republic, so be it. The need for expediency was apparent since Pappy and Uncle Ben would be arriving in Laredo on Friday. There were so many things that could go wrong, including Bret and Bart being found out for who they really were and being . . . . . well, he didn't want to think about it.

And it was his fault. If he'd just made Quentin Travers listen to the truth, instead of letting the man think they were the Radson brothers – but he hadn't, and now they were in the middle of all this. Their very lives, and the lives of those they loved, were in danger.

Bret gave up on Maverick Solitaire. This afternoon he couldn't even make the cards work for him. Why had he agreed to go along with the Rangers plan? He was always the methodical one – the brother trying to keep them out of trouble. And he was the one that had plunged them into this, full force.

He heard a noise that brought him back to the present. It was a moan and it had come from the bed, along with some thrashing around. Was there something wrong with Bart that he didn't know about, or was his brother just having another nightmare? He walked quietly over to the bed and listened. Every once in a while he could catch a word or two, but nothing that made sense.

"Can't . . . . get to . . . . . no! . . . . . Bret . . . . see there . . . . . burned . . . . .

And as quickly as it started the muttering and moving around in the bed were over, and his brother was quiet again, and still. Bart's nightmares and odd dreams had started when Momma died, and continued ever since. Every once in a while he related some of the dreams to Bret, and they were unusual, to say the least. Bret very rarely ever dreamt of anything but Momma and Bart, and the house in Little Bend where they'd grown up.

He decided he wanted a bath and went down to the front desk and arranged to have water heated. The clerk told him it would be ready in thirty minutes. Good, just enough time to shave. Why was he getting cleaned up for a meeting with men who could turn on him at any minute? Another question he couldn't answer. Enough of meetings. He made up his mind that he was playing poker when he got back tonight, no matter how late the meeting went. He couldn't remember the last time he'd sat in on a game.

He walked back upstairs and opened the door to their room. Bart was still asleep, and Bret stopped by the bed again and watched his brother. It always amazed him that Bart didn't snore at all and he did. He wondered why that was. There were so many ways they were alike, and so many ways they were different.

He went to shave and found his mind wandering again. He thought about the time Pappy had come home from a trip to San Antonio and brought them a brand new deck of cards; the year he and Bart and Beau had gone down to the river and cut down the first Christmas tree they had after their Momma died; and the time Bart almost got himself entangled in a saloon robbery. All of his best and most of his worst memories involved his brother. He looked over again at the man sleeping in the bed and chuckled to himself, and he knew why he'd agreed to work with the Rangers. He'd do anything to keep his family, especially his brother, safe. Anything.

XXXXXXXX

Supper was a relatively quiet meal, each brother lost in his own thoughts about the upcoming meeting. Bret didn't expect to have much to say; he was more interested in what the exact plans for the beginning of the fight for secession entailed. Bart would once again remain a fringe participant, playing the part of the disaffected brother. And see what, if anything, he could learn from Julie Maxwell.

Later they found themselves saddling their horses and riding out to the L Bar M Ranch, almost as quiet as they had been at supper. "Bret?" Bart finally spoke up, about halfway to their destination.

"Yeah?"

"Are we really gonna go through with this?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" It seemed a reasonable question.

"So we don't spend the rest of our lives lookin' over our shoulders."

Bart was silent for a minute, then he finally said, "Yeah, I guess you're right. But I don't hafta like it."

"Neither do I," Bret answered.

When they reached the L Bar M, they were taken aback to see the number of saddled hours tied in front of the house and in the corral. Where the meeting this morning had been small and reasonably quiet, there looked to be twenty or thirty horses already here, and voices could be heard from a considerable distance. The brothers looked at each other and both had the same thought for just a moment – turn tail and run like hell. Then reason – or insanity, they weren't sure which – prevailed, and they headed for the corral and tied the stallion and gelding to the outside of the enclosure.

"You ready?" Bret questioned, readjusting his gun belt to a more comfortable position.

"As I'll ever be," Bart replied, and they headed for the house.


	10. Got Your Back, Jack

Chapter 10 – Got Your Back, Jack

It was much noisier inside the house than outside, and that was saying a lot. Everybody seemed to be talking, and no one appeared to be listening. The only reason Julie answered the knock on the door was because she was leaning up against it at the time.

She said something but neither one could hear what. She motioned them to follow her and she led the way into the kitchen, where it was a bit quieter, and repeated herself. "Would you like some coffee?"

Both men nodded, and she handed them each a cup before picking up the coffee pot and filling them. "I'm goin' upstairs until this settles down," she leaned over and told Bart, who smiled and watched her leave. She had her long hair pulled back in a ponytail and it made for an excellent view as she walked away. Tonight she had on a pair of tight fitting jeans, and Bart appreciated the scenery.

The brothers wandered back into the front room, which had men sitting on every piece of furniture they could. Slowly the dull roar began to die down, and when he could be heard without shouting Lee stood up.

"Gentlemen – For those of you that weren't here this mornin' – this is Bret and Bart Maverick, as they are currently known. It's our job to determine exactly what supplies we wish for them to procure, and their job to do the procurin'."

A low murmur went up from the group. "Whatever we want?" somebody yelled out.

"Whatever your money'll buy that we can get," Bret answered.

"What can't you get?" somebody else asked.

"What is it you want?" Bart interjected. As long as Julie was upstairs he was going to give the meeting his full attention.

That question set off another round of discussion within the group, and all sorts of answers were heard. "Gatling guns." "Cannons." "Spencer carbines." "Winchester rifles." "Smith & Wesson anything." "Colt revolvers."

"Seems everybody has a different idea," Bret stated. "Y'all need to agree on things first. We didn't come all this way just to listen to arguin'."

"Aw, let 'em argue, Geoff – ah, Bret. Everybody wants his say," Bart suggested, letting the 'Geoff' slip out so naturally that nobody questioned it.

"Alright, quiet down," Maxwell insisted. "Bret's got a point. I want two different groups here. One's for big guns, the others for sidearms. Big guns over there," and he pointed to the far corner. "Sidearms on this end." Men got up and started moving around; Bret found an empty chair and sat. Bart stepped back out into the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee. Slowly he realized that Julie had come downstairs and was standing beside him.

"They always this argumentative?" he asked the girl.

"So far," she replied. "That's why it's taken them so long to agree on anything. I'm not sure they ever will."

"They better, or Bret'll lose interest pretty fast."

"Short attention span?" Julie asked with a smile.

"Doesn't like indecision," Bart answered. "Neither do I."

"Good to know."

Suddenly two voices could be heard above all the others, and they were arguing loudly.

"Don't need nothin' that big."

"Yes, ya do. Them little peas-shooters ain't gonna do no good."

"Whatta you know about fightin'?"

"I's in the war, same as you."

"That don't mean you know nothin'."

"I know I ain't sure about those two – what'd Lee call 'em? Mavericks? What proof we got they're really Radsons? What if they're imposters? Fakes?"

"You worry too much, Willie. They're the Radsons. Why wouldn't they be?"

Bart looked down at Julie. "Scuse me for a minute," he told the girl, and walked over to the doorway. He pulled out his gun and fired off a round into the air, and all noise ceased immediately. "Play nice, boys," he told everybody. "I ain't killed nobody yet this year, but yer sure temptin' me." Bart deliberately let the Texas twang sound in his voice, and Bret looked at him in a panic for just a minute – then settled back down, just like the crowd. "That's better," Bart added for effect and turned back to Julie. "Now, ma'am, you were sayin'?"

XXXXXXXX

"Why?" Bret asked as they were riding back to town.

"Why what?" Bart responded.

"Why the commotion?"

"Because that's what Henry woulda done."

"How'd ya know that?"

Bart grinned. "Let's just say I did a little research of my own."

"You got a reason?" Bret asked, more than a little frustrated with the disturbance that seemed to have come out of nowhere.

"Yeah, I thought it might be nice to keep you alive."

The night was dark with no moon out, and Bret couldn't see his brother's face, so he had no idea whether Bart was serious. Bret had been on the other side of the room and hadn't heard the conversation Bart heard. "What are you talkin' about?"

Bart pulled Noble up short and stood still, and Bret followed suit with his stallion. Bart's voice was quiet, stern and severe; he didn't sound that way often, but when he did his brother usually paid attention. "You're playin' a dangerous game, Bret, and I wanted to make sure there's no doubt that our name's Radson an not Maverick. Henry's got a temper, and he wouldn't let nobody ride roughshod over his brother. Neither will I. You're not the only one that can be protective, ya know." And then he chuckled a little, and he sounded more like himself when he spoke again. "Just tryin' to make believers' outta anybody that mighta had doubts."

"Were there some? That had doubts, I mean." Bret hadn't heard any, but there were plenty of moments when it was almost impossible to hear anything.

Bart's voice was softer now, thinking that he'd been a little too serious with his previous answer. "Yeah, there were a couple back around me that were mouthin' off and arguin'. They were startin' to attract attention, and we didn't need that. So I decided to shut 'em up."

It finally made sense to the older brother, and even Bret chuckled a little. "You did that, alright. They behaved like perfect gentlemen after you scared the daylights outta them."

Bart urged Noble forward again and Bret followed. Bart had apparently been paying more attention than he had. _'I wonder,'_ Bret thought. _'I wonder if he could have gone and talked to the Rangers, too?'_ Would Bart have done that and not told him? "Bart, where did ya go on that walk?"

"What, the one today? Told ya, I just walked around town."

"No, ya didn't. Where did ya go?"

"Why?"

"Because I need to know."

Bart sighed. "Alright, if ya must know, I went to the newspaper office and read some past articles about the Radsons."

"That's it?"

"Where else would I go?"

That was a good question, and Bret pondered it for a while before he said anything else. They were almost back to town when he finally spoke again.

"Bart?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for havin' my back."

"I always have your back, Bret, even when it may seem otherwise."

"I know. Thanks."

They were at the livery, and both brothers dismounted. Bart took the reins out of Bret's hands. "Go find yourself a poker game. You been itchin' for one all night."

"Thanks, little brother. I will."

"Little brother," Bart mumbled. "Oh well, I asked for it."


	11. A Visit from John Law

Chapter 11 – A Visit from John Law

Bret was just getting back to the hotel room as Bart was getting up. "Interested in breakfast, Brother Bart? I'm buyin'."

Bart yawned. "Never let it be said I turned down a free breakfast. As long as you don't make me go down barefoot."

"Nope. Put yer boots on first."

"You are in a good mood. Musta won last night."

Bret chuckled softly. "Not only did I win last night, I got no meetin' to go to today."

"Good God, a free day. What are ya gonna do with all that spare time?" Bart was curious.

"See if I can keep you outta trouble."

Bart shook his head as he finished with the second boot. "Oh no. I've got things to do today. I've got dinner with Julie Maxwell tonight, remember?"

"So? Ya take a bath, put on a clean shirt, and rent a buggy. Do you suppose she owns a dress?"

"Who cares?" Bart asked as they left the room. "After what I saw last night, she can wear jeans anytime she wants to."

"You, Brother Bart, are incorrigible," Bret said, then thought to himself _'Thank God. At least he's not moonin' over Domino anymore.'_

"Bret, I been thinkin'. There's gotta be a way outta this mess. Maybe if we – "

"What, Bart? Go to the law? What can they do? Naw, I got us into this mess, I gotta get us out."

"And how are you gonna do that?"

"I don't know just yet."

Their breakfast was an odd mixture of Bart talking and Bret sighing. The older brother would think of something, decide it was too risky or wouldn't work, mentally discard it, and start all over again. The younger brother was of a mind that things had gone well last night at the meeting; any doubts that they were the Radson brothers had been properly dismissed by Bart's display of Henry's temper. Finally Bart stopped talking and they sat in silence for several minutes, until Bret looked at his brother and asked "What?"

"I think you need some sleep."

"Of course I need sleep. I was up all night."

Bart shook his head. "No, I mean you really need sleep. Whatever's goin' on in your head is not goin' well."

One more sigh, this time one of resignation. "I know. I just can't see any way around this mess I helped create."

Having been in the same position more than once, Bart reached over and patted Bret's arm. "Don't worry about it so much. We'll work it out."

"Before or after we're dead?"

That got a laugh out of Bart. "Won't matter much if we're dead, will it?"

"Maybe you're right. I need some sleep. Things might look better later."

' _Or not,'_ thought Bart, but he kept the thought to himself. Bret paid the bill and headed upstairs, Bart lingered over another cup of coffee. Just as he was getting ready to get up, Jack Templeton wandered in.

"Mr. Maverick, you got a minute?"

"You think that's wise, Templeton, us talking out here in the open?"

The Ranger chuckled a bit and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "I can fix that." Before Bart had time to blink the cuffs were on him and Templeton's gun was out. "Feel better now? Let's go on down to my office."

"Yes and no."

They walked down the street and Bart saw at least two of the men that had been at last night's meeting. _'Good,_ ' he thought, _'that'll reinforce the idea that we're the Radsons.'_ Once they got into the building the gambler was most anxious to be free of the bracelets, but the Ranger left them in place until they were in his office and behind closed doors.

Bart reached his arms across the desk before sitting down. "Do ya mind?"

Templeton chuckled again. "Make ya nervous, do they?"

"More than a little." Once the cuffs were off, Bart sat down and rubbed his wrists. "I take it there was a point to the charade?"

"Wanted to find out about last night's meeting."

Bart gave him a full rundown, including who was there and what was discussed. After he explained the gunshot and his remarks a smirk enveloped the lawman's face. "Clever touch."

"Just tryin' to stop the questionin' before it got started. Your little walk down the street'll help that. I saw a couple of last night's participants on the way here."

"So, no decisions yet on what kind of firepower they're after?"

A shake of the head. "Nope. Bret made it perfectly clear that we weren't comin' back until they had a better idea of what they want."

"And that's where you all left it?"

"Yep. But I've got a dinner date with Julie Maxwell tonight."

"Move fast, don't ya?"

"She asked me."

Templeton rubbed his chin. "I don't know if you can find out anything from Julie. She's stayed pretty well outta this whole mess."

"She might not be mixed up in it, but she's there for the meetin's. She hears things. Besides, she's a beautiful girl. Who says this is all for business?"

"Aha. Well, at least we know they're deciding whether to be serious or not. Think your brother picked up anything else?"

"No, I don't. Leave him outta this today, would ya? He's havin' a tough time tryin' to figure a way outta the whole thing."

"You might consider letting him know you're working with us, too."

Bart shook his head. "That'd just give him one more thing to worry about. Better this way for now. And Templeton?"

"Hmm?"

"Tomorrow I'll get down here without the show."

The Ranger nodded. "Good luck tonight."

Bart just grinned. "Luck has nothing to do with it."

XXXXXXXX

Bart got a haircut and a shave (except for the mustache he'd decided to grow), and even got to the nearest saloon to play a couple hours of poker before finally heading back to the hotel. He made arrangements with the desk clerk to have a bath drawn and climbed the stairs to his room, whistling as he went.

Bret was awake and sitting by the window, Bart's regular spot, with a pen and paper, paying close attention to whatever he was in the process of writing.

"Well, I know it can't be a list of your latest girlfriends, cause there haven't been any for a while. So what are you doin'?"

"Keepin' track of everybody that was at Maxwell's house last night."

"Because?"

"Just tryin' to keep 'em straight."

"Okay. I got a bath to go soak in. I'll be back later."

"Mmmhmmm."

Bart walked back down the hallway to the 'bath' room and found everything ready for him. Somehow he couldn't get the image of Bret writing out a list of names out of his mind. _'Hope I get somethin' outta_ _this besides a meal and a good-night kiss,'_ he thought, _'or Bret's liable to drive himself crazy.'_


	12. Jim Dandy

Chapter 12 – Jim Dandy

Not only did Julie Maxwell own a dress, but she also looked splendid in it. When he knocked on the door to the Maxwell house a little before seven o'clock, the vision that he saw was not what he'd expected.

The dress was a beautiful golden color that bared her shoulders and made her eyes an even deeper brown. She wore her hair in a long side braid and was stunning enough to take Bart's breath away. "Miss Maxwell," he managed to get out as she opened the door to him. Somehow he'd been able to procure a bouquet of yellow-leaved daisies which he handed to her, along with his profuse apologies. "They're nowhere near as pretty as you are."

He wouldn't have expected a blush out of her, but that's what he got. "Really, Mr. Maverick. You clean up pretty good yourself." Bart had worn one of the black silk waistcoats he'd had made in Natchez, along with a black frock coat and black hat. Together they made a handsome couple.

"Let me put these in water and I'll be ready. Won't you come in for a minute?" Bart followed her inside, where he found her brother Lee and Tommy Slade with their heads together. Lee looked up and gave a nod of the head; Bart tipped his hat. Slade was reading something on a piece of paper and didn't look up.

When Julie came back to the front room, she carried a brown shawl with her. Bart helped drape it around her shoulders and opened the door for her as Lee called out, "You kids have fun now."

"I'd think he'd object to you goin' to dinner with me."

Julie laughed. The sound she made was deep and throaty, a good, rich sound. "He's so happy I'm leaving the house that he can't see straight."

"Even with me?"

"Just remember it's his fault I met you," she answered back. "That doesn't give him the right to object."

"Did he?"

"No."

Bart helped Julie into the buggy and they headed for town. "Burned out on steak?" he asked her.

"Pretty much."

"Like Mexican food?"

"I love it."

"Good. I know just where to take you."

When they reached town Bart drove on through, to the very edges of Laredo and Nuevo Laredo. There they pulled up to a small cantina named 'Mama Carmela's'.

"May not look like much, but they've got the best food anywhere around."

"I was born and raised in Laredo and I've never been here," Julie told him. "Looks are over-rated, I'd rather have substance."

And that's exactly what she got. The food was excellent, and Mama's had a home-made Prickly Pear Wine that was delightful. After a dinner full of delicious food and good laughs, Julie was marveling at how much fun she was having. Bart was easy to talk to and knew something about almost everything, including poetry, Charles Dickens, and the Bible.

"How did you get into your current line of work?" she asked, trying to be delicate about calling his profession 'gun running.'

"I'm not sure I remember," Bart told her. "We were spendin' most of our time playin' poker and we just kinda fell into it."

"And that legendary temper I saw some of last night?"

"Oh, sorry about that. Most of it's an exaggeration. Now I just trot it out for show when I need to, like last night. They were so busy arguin' they weren't discussin' anything of value."

"And where do you go when you're done here?"

"Wherever we feel like it."

"No one out there waiting for you?"

He thought about Caroline, then Rose, then Domino. "Nope. Not a soul."

"So if you wanted to stay here – "

Bart got serious. "Depends on what happens here."

"What do want to have happen?"

Impulsively he leaned over and kissed her. Her lips tasted like chili peppers and wine. "More of that."

"And if it could be arranged?"

His right eyebrow raised about half an inch. "Right now?" he asked and kissed her again.

"Right now."

He dropped his napkin on the table. "I'd say what are we waitin' for?"

XXXXXXXX

Even though the days were warm, the nights still cooled off pleasantly. Julie shivered slightly and Bart pulled her shawl up over her shoulders, then pulled the girl toward him and kissed her. They were by the shores of Lake Casa Blanca, a small body of water slightly northeast of Laredo. Bart had been here before, but never in quite such a pleasant situation as he now found himself in.

The gambler was lying on his back on a blanket while the girl with the burnished copper-brown eyes leaned over him and planted kisses on various parts of his face. It was a most pleasant sensation, and he was enjoying it immensely. The moon was a waxing crescent, giving off just enough glow from its one-quarter light so that it wasn't pitch black outside. He reached up to her face and pulled her down to kiss her full on the lips, and she stayed down and snuggled next to him.

"Julie – "

"I know. I'm a brazen hussy."

She would have laughed if she knew where he'd been and what he'd been doing in Natchez. "No, you're not. But I think we're going a little too fast here."

"Bart – Henry – which do you prefer?"

"I like the way Bart sounds. He's a better fellow, anyway."

"Then Henry?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Why doesn't Henry change?"

He thought about the real Geoff and Henry, and what their lives might be like behind bars. "I think he'll have to."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Yep." He didn't like lying to her.

"Then I'm glad I met you when I did."

Bart wondered how she'd feel if her brother ended up in jail, or worse. "How did all this get started, anyway?"

"It's been brewin' ever since the war ended. There's some people here who blame everything bad that's happened on the Union Army. They're certain things would be better if we were our own country again. I don't know – I was too young to remember. Lee's one of 'em. He's convinced beef prices would go back up, and we'd have a better chance of makin' a decent profit on everything else."

"And whatta you want?"

"I want peace and quiet. I want people to quit snipin' at each other. I want everybody to stay out of my living room. And I want to do this." She leaned over with her eyes closed and they kissed again. Bart let himself go for a minute, and just tasted her lips and her mouth and traces of the wine and dinner before reminding himself why he was there.

"Do they really have as much money as they said they had?"

She sat up then, uneasy that he seemed more interested in the Republic group than her. "More. They've got over thirty thousand dollars. Do you know Jim Buckley?"

Bart almost choked when he heard the name. "Buckley? What's he got to do with this?"

"Do you know him?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Lee's been talking to Buckley about guns and supplies, too. He's supposed to be here on tomorrow's stage."

"So what's he plannin' to do, pit us against Buckley in a biddin' war?"

"I don't know. All I know is Buckley's due to arrive tomorrow."

"Good God. Buckley can't be trusted. He's a scalawag, and a con man, and a swindler, and anything else you can think of." Bart sat up; something had to be done about Dandy Jim before he got here and ruined everything.

"But you said he was a friend."

Bart shook his head. "Nope. I told you I knew him. I'm not sure Buckley has any friends."

"I shouldn't have told you." She was even prettier when she was pouting, which is exactly what she was doing now.

"No, I'm glad you did. But I need to go talk to Bret right away."

"Right now?"

"Yeah, right now. Sorry. Can I see you again?"

"You want to?"

Bart leaned over and kissed her but ended the kiss before she could pull him back down on the blanket. "Yes, ma'am. Very much."

"Tomorrow night. There's another meeting at six o'clock. I'll fix dinner and we can take the buggy back out and eat away from all the tempers and shouting."

"I might have to stay there for a bit if we need to deal with Jim Buckley, and the group."

"Alright. But you will come with me for supper?"

He stood up and pulled her to her feet, kissing her again in the process. "I will."


	13. Payback

Chapter 13 – Payback

"Don't you have a home, Templeton?"

"Yep, Maverick, you're standin' in it."

After dropping Julie off at the ranch Bart had raced straight back to town, never imagining that Jack Templeton would still be at the Texas Ranger's office, but here he was. He didn't know if there was anything the Ranger could do but it was certainly worth a try.

"That must have been an awful dinner date."

Bart shook his head. "No, as a matter of fact, it wasn't. It was what Julie told me afterward that was awful."

"You can sit down, you know. I don't bite."

Bart sat, not knowing what kind of a reaction he would get, if any, from Templeton. "Ever heard the name Dandy Jim Buckley?"

"Nope."

"Con man, card sharp, fancy dresser, English accent."

"Still nope."

"Longtime acquaintance of Bret and Bart Maverick. Won't do anything unless there's somethin' in it for him."

"Oh."

"He's comin' in on tomorrow's stage. Lee Maxwell sent for him."

The Ranger was stroking his chin again. "Does he have access to real weapons?"

"Who knows with Buckley. Maybe, maybe not."

"Got any suggestions?"

Bart had a quick answer. "I suppose murder is out of the question?"

"Depends on whose murder it is."

"Buckley's."

"Uh, no." Templeton started chuckling. "Any other suggestions?"

"How about arrestin' him?"

"Now there's a thought," Jack answered. "But what for?"

"Impersonatin' a gentleman?"

Templeton shook his head. "Not a crime."

"That's true. What if you just detained him? Say, in Littlewood? Until this is over?"

"What would that accomplish?"

Bart shook his head. "I don't want him to get either one of us killed because he opens his mouth at the wrong time. Besides, if Buckley doesn't show up it might force the Republic to make the commitment to the Radsons."

"There is that."

"When does that stage get into Littlewood? Tomorrow mornin'?"

Templeton nodded. "What are you thinking?"

"You got a horse I can ride to Littlewood and take the mornin' stage back - with Buckley?"

"You'd have to leave now."

"I can do that."

"What if he won't listen to reason?" The Ranger asked.

Bart grinned. "I can always shoot him."

XXXXXXXX

Bart made the trip to Littlewood and arrived considerably before the stage did. He knew what Bret would assume when he didn't return to the hotel room but that couldn't be helped; convincing Jim Buckley to work with them instead of against them was more important than what his brother thought of his and Julie's morals.

He'd already left the borrowed horse with the Ranger stationed in Littlewood and bought a ticket for the trip back to Laredo when the stagecoach finally arrived. He was outside smoking a cigar and was relieved to see there weren't any other passengers waiting to make the trip with them. He needed Lady Luck to hold steady and make sure there was nobody with Jim that was continuing on.

The coach door opened and the shiniest black boots Bart had ever seen stepped out, on the feet of the man known as 'Dandy' Jim Buckley. Along with a peacock blue coat, lighter blue pants and shirt, and a bright purple silk cravat tie. Buckley's face lit up in a broad grin as soon as he caught sight of the gambler, and Bart had to hurriedly clap his hand over Buckley's mouth before a loud, happy greeting could issue forth.

"Don't say anything until we're back in the coach and on our way. I'll explain everything to you, I swear. Don't even use my name. Please, Dandy, trust me."

Much to Bart's surprise, the Englishman nodded his head and Maverick removed the impediment to his speech. When no one else remained in or alighted from the coach Maverick breathed a sigh of relief. "We got time for coffee, driver?" Bart yelled up to the man holding the reins.

"Yep. One cup."

Bart tipped his hat to the driver and ushered Buckley inside the ticket office. He hurried over to the coffee pot sitting on the stove and poured two cups, ignoring Buckley's attempt to wordlessly decline the black liquid. "Drink it, it's good for ya," Bart intoned.

"What is going on?" Dandy finally asked, and got pulled to the other side of the room.

"Somethin' you don't wanna get involved in."

"I say, old boy – "

"Shut up, Jim, and drink yer coffee."

Buckley blinked once or twice and then did as he was told. Bart almost burst out laughing at the awful faces he made while drinking the liquid, but everything remained nice and quiet until they heard the driver yell "All aboard," then they scrambled for the door of the station and coach. It was only a few seconds before they were on their way, and the noise from the horses drowned out almost everything.

"Now, old boy, tell me why I wasn't even allowed a pleasant greeting before being told to shut up. And while you're at it, explain what that thing is you've decided needs to be on your face."

Bart nodded and launched into the gun runner's tale, and for the most part Dandy Jim Buckley kept his mouth shut and listened. By the time Bart had no more to say, they were halfway to Laredo. He ignored the remark that concerned his new mustache. The Englishman sat quietly for a few more minutes, digesting everything he'd heard, before finally asking a question.

"So if I actually engage in any monetary transactions with these people, you're telling me I'm going to be arrested with the all of them when they finally do try to buy something?"

"See how quickly you catch on when you listen? Not only arrested but also prosecuted and convicted by the Federal government. Which means Federal prison, not some little jail that you'd expect one of us to break you out of."

"And you and Bret would most likely be dead?"

Bart nodded. "That's about the size of it."

"Well, we can't have that, can we? I might be willing to risk your lives in the venture, but I would never risk going to Federal prison. So should I know you and your brother are the Radsons or not?"

Bart rubbed his chin as he thought about that for a minute. He'd picked up the habit from Jack Templeton. "Yeah, I think you should. It'd make us a more viable option. Just remember, Bret doesn't know about the Rangers and me, and I think he's safer if it's kept that way."

"And just where will he believe you've been all night?"

That's when the gambler arched an eyebrow and let loose that wicked grin. "With Julie Maxwell, of course."

"Doesn't that dictate your departure before we arrive in Laredo?" Jim asked as he shifted uncomfortably.

"Yep. There's a way station a couple miles outta town for the coaches that break off and head to Mexico. I'm gettin' out there."

"And you'll tell your brother that I've arrived?"

"Mmmhmm. I'll see you as I'm leavin' the buggy at the livery."

"So after I do this little favor for you, you owe me one, eh?"

Bart laughed, remembering Cheyenne and the terrible time he'd had when he took Buckley's place in a poker game that almost killed him. "Cheyenne," was all he said, and watched Buckley's face fall. "We're nowhere near close."

Dandy let out a sigh. "One can always hope."

The driver pulled into the way station just long enough for Bart to make his exit, then rattled back down the road to Laredo. As requested, a horse was there for him courtesy of Jack Templeton. The Ranger would have to wait for his report of Buckley's agreement in the charade; if he didn't show up at the hotel soon, Bret would go out looking for him. And that could prove to be disastrous.


	14. How Far?

Chapter 14 – How Far?

The younger Maverick breathed a sigh of relief when he entered the hotel room and found his brother still asleep. ' _Musta been another poker night,'_ he thought. Relatively quickly Bret stirred and Bart sat on the chair next to the bed, ready for the questioning to begin. To his surprise, there was none.

"Hey, good mornin'," was as much as he heard from the bed.

"I've got some news," Bart responded.

"What's that?" Bret pulled himself up into a sitting position.

"There was an arrival this mornin' on the stage."

"Oh God, not Pappy!"

"No, it's not Friday," Bart chuckled.

"I don't have any more guesses. Tell me."

"Be glad yer sittin' down. Dandy Jim Buckley."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"Come for the poker game, I guess."

"Maybe. But Lee Maxwell picked him up at the stage depot."

Bret ran his hand through his hair. "Do you think . . . . . "

"Who knows, with Buckley. He's been in some awful shady deals."

"Did he see you?"

"Don't think so. But he might have. There's a meetin' tonight, ain't there?"

"How'd you know that?" Bret asked before he thought. "Oh yeah, Miss Maxwell. How is she, by the way?"

"I'm havin' dinner with her again tonight. After the meetin' gets started. So I might take the buggy out there."

Bret got a sly grin on his face. "Was it cold last night?"

"Naw. Not really."

Bart was right, Bret had drawn the conclusion that he'd spent the night with Julie. "Careful, that brother a hers is liable to expect you to marry the gal."

"I don't think Lee Maxwell is gonna want her to have anything to do with us when this is all over."

Bret nodded. "You're right, I'm sure. Well, I'm goin' ta get breakfast. You?"

"I got somethin' ta do first, then I'm comin' back ta sleep. I'll catch ya later."

Bret went downstairs to the dining room; Bart walked down the hallway and out the back entrance to the hotel. Through the alleys and back streets he meandered until he got to the Rangers offices. He slipped inside and once again found himself in Templeton's office. The Ranger walked in with two cups of coffee and handed one to Bart. "Thought you might need this."

The gambler took it gratefully. "Thanks. Saw Buckley get off the stage earlier."

"Yeah, I was lookin' to see what we were dealin' with. Quite a dandy, isn't he?"

Bart laughed and almost spilled his coffee. "That's how he got the name."

Templeton sat on the corner of his desk and sighed. "Didn't shoot him, I see. So I take it he's cooperating?"

"Yep," Bart replied, "after I explained all the perks that go along with prison life. He's very agreeable to staying out of the Federal system."

"Most people that have a choice are. I expect to see your brother in here sometime today. Have you seen him this morning?"

"You mean has he seen me? Yeah, I made an appearance at the hotel. He was goin' down to eat breakfast."

There was a knock on the door and the young, wide-eyed Ranger stuck his head in. "Jack, Bret Maverick's here to see you."

"Shoot," Bart muttered, "you got another way outta here?"

"Yeah," Templeton answered. "That door leads out to the back alley." He pointed to a door behind the desk.

"I'll take it. Thanks for the coffee." Bart took a last swallow and set the cup down. He hurried over to the door and went outside, then closed it, except for a small crack, behind him.

Templeton turned to the young Ranger. "Alright, Samich, bring him in."

In just a minute or two Bret Maverick appeared in the office doorway. "Templeton," he said by way of greeting, and took the seat that his brother had just vacated. Bart peeked through the slightly open door and watched Bret, who looked worn out. _'Not sleepy, just exhausted,'_ Bart thought. _'We gotta get this thing over with in a hurry before it kills him.'_

"We may have a problem with the Republic bunch," Bret started.

"Dandy Jim Buckley," Templeton offered.

"You know about Buckley?"

The Ranger nodded. "Jim's sorta workin' with us. Kinda like you are. He won't mess anything up."

"How sure are you?" Maverick asked. "I don't mind playin' around with my life, but I'm not gamblin' with my brothers."

Bart stood outside the door and thought about what Bret had just said. It seemed to be the way his brother always thought, ever since they were nothing more than babies. ' _I don't mind playin' around with my life . . . . . but I'm not gamblin' with my brothers.'_ In almost every situation, that's what Bret had done. Gambled with his own life to keep Bart safe. _'It's not right,'_ Bart thought _. 'Why should he always be willin' to risk himself for me? Doesn't he know I feel the same way?'_ He waited until he could hear both his brother's and Templeton's voices and closed the door carefully. He walked down the alley, turning Bret's statement over and over in his mind.

When he got to the back door of the hotel he went in and climbed the stairs, headed back to their room. He removed his boots, hung up his frock coat and silk vest and took off his shoulder holster, laying it ritualistically on the bed, then climbed in carefully right next to the gun. He closed his eyes and drifted slowly into the world of sleep, still thinking about his brother and all the times Bret had saved his hide from one mess or another, and wondered how far he would go to balance the scales . . . . . .

 _They were at Lee Maxwell's ranch; Julie was there, along with Tommy Slade and Quentin Travers, and Jim Buckley. Dandy and Bret were arguing and Maxwell was doing his best to referee, but neither one of them was willing to give an inch. He couldn't hear what they were saying – Julie was trying to get him to leave with her. Without warning Slade got into the argument, on Buckley's side, and it was two against one. All the voices got louder and louder until Maxwell's ex-foreman pulled his gun and aimed it right at Bret._

 _Bart yelled "NO!" and pushed Bret out of the way, just in time to catch the bullet meant for his brother. It hit him right in the chest and instantly took his breath away; he knew a lung was punctured and that was the least of the damage. He dropped to the floor and couldn't move. As Bret gathered him into his arms, Bart knew he didn't have long._

" _You okay?" he managed to squeeze out as he felt the edges of his vision creeping in towards black. A look of abject terror crossed Bret's face, but Bart smiled at his brother. "My turn, big brother," he whispered as he desperately tried to draw breath. "Don't get into trouble . . . . . . without me," he gasped, and lost the fight, closing his eyes and shuddering once before his lungs gave out._

Like he had so many times before, he woke with a start and looked around the room. From the angle of the daylight on the walls he knew he'd been asleep for quite a while, then he realized he was drenched in sweat and shaking. He got out of bed and made his way to the wash basin, where he soaked the wash cloth, then wiped his face and neck down. He hated nightmares like that. He'd had so many of them over the years that he'd lost count. Sometimes they were a precursor to events, and sometimes they were merely bad dreams. As he stood by the dresser with his hands still in the water basin, he wondered which one this would be.

He wiped his hands and pulled his watch out of his pants pocket. It was almost five o'clock. Where was Bret? He wouldn't head out to Maxwell's alone, would he? After that last nightmare, he certainly hoped not.

He removed his shirt and washed the sweat off, then put on clean clothes and gathered his shoulder holster from the bed and his buckskin jacket from the closet. He was about to strap on his gun belt when the door opened and his brother walked in.

"Last time I was here you were still asleep."

"You were here before?" Bart asked.

"Yep, about an hour ago."

"I wish I'd heard ya. I mighta woken up."

"You ridin' with me out to Maxwell's?"

"Yeah, if I don't give Noble some attention he'll find somebody else to make miserable."

"You ready to go now?" Bret asked as Bart tied his gun belt down.

"Yes, sir, I surely am."

"Alright, let's get outta here."

Bart grabbed his brother's arm before they went out the door. "Be careful tonight, would ya?"

The older brother looked in the younger brother's eyes and saw the concern and worry there. "Have another nightmare?" he asked.

"Just be careful, Pappy."

Bret grinned and threw his arm around Bart's neck. "I will, son, I will."


	15. Still of the Night

Chapter 15 – Still of the Night

There were only two horses tied to the hitching rail in front of Maxwell's, and the brothers exchanged glances. "Are we too early?" Bart asked.

"No, he told me six o'clock. I imagine Buckley's here."

"Not much of anybody else."

The Mavericks dismounted and tied their horses up, then crossed the porch. The house was as quiet as a graveyard. No voices shouting, no arguing, no sounds of any kind. Bret knocked on the door and heard . . . . . . nothing. He knocked again, louder, and footsteps echoed coming downstairs and walking across the floor. When the door opened, Julie was the one behind it. "Are we early?" Bret asked this time.

"No, I don't know where they are," Julie answered. "They were here just a minute ago." She lingered at the door until Bart walked in, then snuck a kiss before Bret could turn around.

There was a back door to the house, and when it opened a few seconds later Tommy Slade and Quentin Travers walked in, followed by Maxwell and Buckley. No one else appeared, and Bart realized it was the exact some setting as his nightmare. This did not look good.

Bret nodded at Dandy. "Buckley."

Buckley's opening line was near perfect. "Radson. I heard a nasty rumor you were here." He shifted his gaze to Bart. "Henry."

Before Bart could say anything, Bret deflected Buckley's greeting as if he'd been expecting it. "It's Maverick now, Buckley. Bret and Bart."

"Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Which is which?"

Bart spoke up. "I'm Bart, Buckley. Any other name you'd like to use?"

Buckley shifted his gaze. "No. I'm not wanted by John Law."

"Yet," Bret added.

Maxwell looked from one to the other. "What'd you say the other night? Play nice, boys."

Bret gave a little mean-spirited laugh. "Not happy finding the competition here."

Bart stepped in before the exchange descended into the arguing he'd heard in his nightmare. "Why are you here, Buckley?"

"I think that's a question for our host, don't you, old boy?"

Slade and Travers had taken seats in the front room and Julie was watching Bart. All eyes turned to Lee Maxwell. "Some of the folks wanted a second opinion on equipment and prices. Just a little friendly competition."

"Nothin' friendly with Buckley around," Bret all but growled and Bart turned to look at his brother. It sounded like Jack Templeton had told Bret something that he didn't have time to tell Bart.

"My goodness, such hostility. Whatever have I done to deserve that?" Dandy's voice had an edge to it but he was still smiling as he asked the question.

"I spent six months in jail because of you. Any more questions?"

This was a persona that Bart had never seen, and he was quite relieved it was completely out-of-character for Bret Maverick. He was about to say something else when Julie grabbed his hand and pulled him into the kitchen. "How long do we need to stay? I've got everything all ready to go."

"Just a bit," Bart answered, pleased to hear that the 'disagreement' hadn't escalated any further. The four men remaining in the front room were all sitting down, discussing . . . . . what? Bart couldn't quite hear. "Geoff?"

Bret looked up, waiting for Bart to say anything else, but nothing was forthcoming, so he excused himself and met Bart in the doorway to the kitchen. "What?"

"No more arguments, okay?"

"What's goin' on, son? Is it the dream?"

Bart nodded. "Yeah. I'd like to keep it from happenin'. So no arguments, hear?"

Bret grinned for just a second. "We gotta do somethin' to move this along." He saw the look on his brother's face and smiled for real. "Alright, I'll behave. I promise."

"Thanks."

Bart turned back to Julie and relieved her of the basket. "Whatta ya got in here? Bricks?"

"A bottle of wine, if you must know," she answered. "Is that alright?"

"Yep, just wondered." They headed for the back door and Bart threw one more glance towards his brother. Something about that particular nightmare had indeed put him on edge, and he needed reassurance that nothing would happen while he was gone.

"Bart?" Julie was still holding the door open and he finally followed her out into the evening air.

"You got a buggy?" he asked the girl, but she was already headed for the barn.

"Yes, and it's all ready to go. What is wrong with you tonight?"

"Nothin'. Just on edge before a deal's done." As they entered the barn, he saw the buggy and loaded the basket into it, then helped Julie climb on board. She'd worn a dress again, a pale yellow that set off her long hair and eyes, and he took a good look at her for the first time that night. She really was a beauty, and for just a moment he felt guilt-ridden about the hoax he was playing on her. _'Settle down, Bart,'_ he told himself, _'they're the ones that started it.'_

XXXXXXXX

Over an hour later he was sitting with his back against a tree, with Julie's head in his lap. They'd had the wine with supper, and it affected Julie just the way it used to affect Amy Stanhope. He absent-mindedly stroked her hair; the hair that fell like chocolate ribbons around her head and spilled over across his pants and the green blanket. It was pleasant here, with the warm breeze and the rich, dark smell of cattle, and Bart listened to the night sounds and felt almost peaceful. Then a thought crossed his mind. _'This isn't real.'_

Sometimes he wished it could be, the air and the sounds and the girl asleep next to him, and he thought about all the other times he'd felt like this. It was always with a woman at his side, but it never lasted long. Why was that? Wrong time, wrong place, wrong woman? Was he ever going to find the right one? And just when he thought he had, something happened and she left or was taken away, and then he smelled the cigar smoke from a saloon, and heard the sounds of the drunken cowboys and squealing saloon girls, and felt the cards in his hand, and knew it had nothing to do with the girl by his side. The problem was him, always him, trying to conclude why something felt wrong, or out of place, or out of time.

What was it he was looking for? He wasn't sure, and that was the biggest problem. How do you find what you're after when you don't know what it is? How can you tell if it's missing if you never had it to begin with? How had he gotten to this point in his life with all these questions?

When he was little he couldn't wait to grow up so he could play poker as much as he wanted to. It wasn't until he was grown up that he discovered there was more to life than poker, and it didn't turn out the way you expected it to. That was a hard lesson, and he wasn't always sure he'd learned it yet.

Julie stirred, and Bart stopped what he was doing and just listened. Everything was so still, so quiet, not a sound anywhere. Until the gunshot, and in moments he was on his feet, pulling Julie up with him, grabbing her and practically throwing her in the buggy, leaving everything they'd brought with them on the ground and under the tree.

"What?" she mumbled, still not sure of how she found herself suddenly in the buggy, racing back towards the house as fast as they could go. "What happened?"

"Gunshot," was all he could say, with his heart threatening to leap from his chest; while he tried desperately to breathe. What. Had. Happened?


	16. Twenty-Four Hours

Chapter 16 – Twenty-Four Hours

It only took five or six minutes to return to the ranch, but they were the longest minutes of Bart Maverick's life. He pulled the buggy up to the front of the house and scrambled down as fast as he could, not even stopping to help Julie. Across the porch and inside, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Bret down on the floor. His heart missed a beat and his breath caught in his throat, until suddenly Bret jumped up and yelled, "I found it!" In his hand, held high in the air, was a small silver ring.

"Bret! " his brother choked out, saw that there was no wound or blood of any kind on the older Maverick, and rushed back outside and across the porch, almost making it to the dirt before he vomited up the majority of what he'd eaten for supper. Julie started for the gambler, who was on his knees with his head hung over the porch edge, but was moved aside by his brother. Bret grabbed Bart by the shoulders and held him up while he continued to retch violently until there was no more to expel. Lee handed Julie a towel and she gave it to Bret, who used it to wipe Bart's face and mouth. That was followed quickly by a glass of water that the younger Maverick rinsed with and then spat out. Bret handed him the towel and he wiped his mouth again.

When Bart had finished coughing and choking, he sat back on his heels and gasped out, "I . . . thought . . . . you . . . . were . . . . dead."

Julie ushered everybody back inside and closed the door for privacy. "I'm sorry," Bret told him, and Bart turned his head slightly to stare at his brother.

"What . . . . were . . . . you . . . . doin' . . . on . . . the floor?"

Bret still held Bart around the shoulders, and he set a small silver ring in his hand. "Be careful, it's a gun."

"What?"

"Buckley's got a ring that's a gun. It fires little, tiny bullets. He took it off to show it to Maxwell and it dropped on the floor. I saw where it went and I got down to pick it up."

Bart stared at the tiny thing that he held in his hand. "Are . . . you . . . . serious? What was . . . the gunshot I heard? Not this thing?"

"No, Dandy shot his gun to show how easy it would be to cover up the sound of that. I never thought about you and that damn dream . . . . this is my fault."

Julie finally moved to Bart's side. "Why don't you come inside with me? You can lie down in the spare room. I've got some tea that will help with your stomach."

Bart shook his head. "Goin' back . . . . to town." He handed the miniature gun back to his brother.

"You can't ride, Bart."

"I'll take him," Julie said. "We can tie his horse to the back of the buggy. Is that alright with you?"

Bart nodded. "Yeah."

Bret finally let go of the hold he had on his brother. "I'm sorry. I never thought . . . . . "

"It's alright. I just heard the shot . . . . and all I could see . . . . . "

"Was the dream. Yeah, I can guess the rest. Take him back to the hotel, Julie. I won't be late."

Bret and Julie got Bart to his feet and into the buggy. Bret helped Julie in and then tied Noble to the back. "Just tie his horse out front. I'll take him down to the livery when I get back. And Julie – thanks."

Julie nodded and headed the buggy towards Laredo. Bret went back inside the house.

XXXXXXXX

It was quiet in the buggy for a few minutes; Julie finally broke the silence with a question. "Bret said something about a dream. What was that about?"

Bart was riding with his head back and his eyes closed, feeling weak and tired and humiliated. He stayed that way while he told her the story. "Our momma died when we were kids. I started havin' nightmares and I've had 'em ever since. Sometimes they come true. Today I dreamt that we were at yer house . . . . an Buckley an Bret got into an argument. Slade sided with Buckley and pulled out his gun and shot Bret, but I was there in the room and I took the bullet instead. When I heard the gunshot . . . . to see Bret down on that floor, not knowin' what happened . . . . I thought . . . . . "

"That he'd been shot?"

"Yeah. Sorry I ruined our evenin'."

"At least it wasn't my cooking."

"No, ma'am, you're cookin' is just fine."

"Want to try again?"

"Maybe we better wait until all this negotiatin' is done."

"Will you come back out with your brother if they don't make the deal tonight?"

He finally opened his eyes. "I will."

The buggy pulled up in front of the hotel. "Come on, I need to get you inside."

Bart sat up straight for just a moment. "I can do it myself."

She watched him as he sat, unsteady at best, and then laughed a little. "Sure you can."

The girl got down and untied Noble's reins from the back of the buggy, re-tying them on the hitching rail. Then she went around to Bart's side and did her best to get him down and out and back on solid ground. She got his right arm around her shoulders and helped steady him up the stairs, then steered him into the hotel room.

"Let's take your jacket and shirt off," she told him, and when the jacket was far enough off him she added, "and that shoulder holster." He felt too weak to argue with her, and accepted her help in getting partially undressed. Lastly she tackled his boots, and removed them like she'd been doing it all her life. "The pants are your problem," she told him as she helped him lie down.

"The holster," he said, and she didn't quite understand. "Hand me the holster," he clarified, and she handed the shoulder holster over to him. He laid it on the bed next to him and she gave a little laugh.

"You always sleep with that next to you?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," he struggled to answer her, "ever since . . . . "

"Since what?' she knew that would have to be her final question; she was fast losing him to sleep.

"Ever since . . . . the beating," and his eyes closed.

' _The beating?'_ she wondered. _'What kind of life have these two led?'_

XXXXXXXX

Bret took a seat in the front room. Buckley looked at him questioningly and Bret gave a slight nod of his head. He handed the ring gun back to Dandy, who put it on his pinkie finger.

"What was all that about?" Lee Maxwell asked.

"Been feelin' under the weather for a few days. I guess it finally got to him. Your sister's takin' him back to the hotel."

Buckley cleared his throat. "Has your group decided yet what kind of weapons you're going to require?"

"Yeah, finally. Here's the list of what we're gonna need. . . . . ." and he handed the list to Buckley first. Buckley looked it over and passed it to Bret.

Bret was stunned. They wanted enough weapons to equip a small army. "I need this list. It's gonna take at least twenty-four hours for me to get you a price."

Maxwell turned his head. "What about you, Buckley?"

"Well, there are absolutely some things on there I can't get . . . but I could use the twenty-four hours, too."

"Alright. How about Thursday, here at the ranch. Say ten in the morning?"

"I'll have an answer for you then, Maxwell," Buckley replied.

Bret nodded. "One more thing. I have to know where you want some of this big equipment. Where it comes from and where it goes to affects the price."

Maxwell looked at Slade and Travers and both nodded. "Alright, I'll have that information for you in the morning. That's all for now, gentlemen. Buckley, you need to go into town tomorrow?"

"Yes, Lee, first thing in the morning."

"Julie should be back with the buggy shortly. You can take that."

Buckley cleared his throat again. "Radson – uh, Maverick, can I speak to you outside for a minute?"

Bret glared at Dandy. "Only if you leave your gun in here. And that little contraption, too. And the derringer you carry in yer boot."

"And just what about your gun, old man?"

Bret smiled wickedly, an evil looking expression. "I guarantee I won't shoot you – tonight."

Buckley sighed. "You give me your word as a gentle – give me your word?"

"I give you my word as Geoff Radson."

"I suppose that's better than nothing."

Buckley handed over his agreed upon guns to Quentin and walked outside with Bret. Once they got off the porch Buckley asked, "Was Bart alright?"

"He will be. If Templeton hadn't told me you were workin' with him, too – "

"Disdain of Federal prison is a great motivator. You're in touch with the Ranger?"

"I will be tomorrow. Get your gear out of here and get into town. It's not gonna be pretty when they come to round up everybody."

"You're sure that will happen?"

Bret nodded. "It has to, Buckley. Bart and my lives depend on it."

"How did Bart get you into this mess to begin with?"

The gambler almost laughed. "That's the logical assumption, ain't it? This mess is my fault, not Bart's. And we have to get it all resolved by Friday – when Pappy and our Uncle Ben get here for the poker game."

"Good luck, my friend. I don't envy you one bit. I'd rather face Federal prison than your father in a foul mood.

Bret thought about that for a minute. "If this ain't resolved by that time, and Pappy finds out I was workin' with the Texas Rangers of my own free will, I think I would, too."

' _Not only you but your brother,'_ Buckley thought. Wouldn't that leave the Maverick patriarch fit-to-be tied?


	17. The World in Pieces

Chapter 17 – The World in Pieces

"Here's their list," Bret told Jack Templeton, as he sat in the Ranger's office. "What they want, how many they want, and where they want them. Isn't this what you've been waitin' for?"

"Yes and no," the Ranger answered. "This is most of it – but we still don't know how many are involved."

Bret shook his head. "That's not somethin' I can get. There ain't no reason for me to ask for it."

Slowly the man in front of him nodded. "I know. I'm just not sure how effective we're going to be at rounding everybody up without it."

"That's the best I can do, Templeton."

"We are grateful, Mr. Maverick. You've gotten us further inside faster than I would have believed possible. These people must be stopped, and you've given us the means to do that. I just don't think we can stop them all."

"What does that mean for me and my brother?"

"I think I would make myself scarce in Texas for a while if I were you two."

"That's not possible. Our father and Uncle live in Little Bend."

Jack got up from behind his desk. "I know, Mr. Maverick. We'll do our best."

"Can you get me prices and locations on their list?"

"Yes. I'll have that for you tonight. You can take it to your meeting tomorrow."

"And all I need is their commitment to purchase the weapons?"

The Ranger walked around the front of his desk and sat on the corner. "We'd like to get their money if that's feasible. It'd stop them from regrouping, in case we miss any of them when we make the arrests."

Bret sighed. This was the first he'd heard about the money. He wasn't even sure it was a possibility. "That's askin' an awful lot."

"I know. But it's the best way to guarantee your family's safety."

"I'll do what I can."

XXXXXXXX

"How are ya this mornin'?"

That was the first thing Bret said to his brother when he entered the room and found the younger Maverick finally awake.

"Better than I was last night. Sorry about the . . . . . mess I made."

Bret shook his head. "Didn't make no mess. Told everybody there you been feelin' poorly all week. Nothin' more was said."

"You get everything ya needed last night?"

"Yep. Got a meetin' tomorrow at ten. Buckley should be in town sometime today."

"What's the meetin' for?"

"Buckley and I are supposed to give the group a price."

Bart would have been surprised if he didn't already know Bret was getting help from the Rangers. "I'm not worried about Buckley. How are you gonna manage that?"

"I've got my ways," Bret answered. For just a moment he wondered if he should tell Bart the truth – that his information was courtesy of the Texas Rangers. "Bart – I want you to stay outta this."

"How am I supposed to stay out of it? If you're involved, I'm involved."

"Like you were last night?" Bret chastised.

"You know why that happened." The peculiarity of his stomach was one of the reasons that Bart's appetite was as sketchy as it was.

"That's just one more reason I want you to stay out of it."

The discussion went no further, as there was a knock that interrupted them. Bret opened the door to find Dandy Jim standing in front of them. "What do you want?" Bret growled at him, in character again.

"A little professional courtesy would be welcome, old boy."

"Come in." As soon as Dandy was inside Bret slammed the door.

"Frightening how well you play the part," Buckley commented, then he saw Bart still sitting on the bed. "I say, Bart, how are you feeling this oh, afternoon, I think?"

"Fine, Dandy. It was a momentary inconvenience."

Buckley shook his head. "That was more than an inconvenience, old boy."

"I'm sure it's resolved itself. Have you gotten moved to the hotel?"

Buckley gave a brief nod. "Just now. I'm down the hall from you in 219. Well, just wanted to let you know I'd arrived." He turned back to Bret. "There was a lot of nonsensical chatter this morning at Maxwell's before I left."

"What does that mean?" Bret asked.

"That Tommy Slade was there. And some surly looking fellow I'd not met. They were discussing 'the revolution' and where the new capital would be."

"Oh? Anything else?"

"Something about 'what to do with the bodies'. Made no sense to me."

Bret and Bart exchanged looks, and Buckley caught it. "What?"

"Didn't happen to say which bodies, did they?" Bart asked.

"I'd lost interest at that point. Sorry. Well, I'm off. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Bring your best sneer with you."

The brothers looked at each other again once Buckley was gone. "The new capital?" Bret asked.

"And whose bodies?" Bart added.

"I don't like the sound of that," Bret stated the obvious.

"Me either."

"Are you fit to eat yet?" Bret asked, changing the subject, and hoping that Bart wasn't. It would give him time to go back to Templeton's office and discuss this latest information.

"No," Bart answered, and then added, "Ya don't have to look so dang happy about it."

"Sorry, just thinkin'. I'm goin' to get breakfast. Lunch. Food."

XXXXXXXX

"'What to do with the bodies'? I have no idea what that could mean, Mr. Maverick."

Bret looked grim. "I do, and I don't like it."

"Neither do I, but it might mean something entirely different than we think it does."

"I'm not takin' any chances. My brother stays out of this. Completely."

"That's your decision, Mr. Maverick."

"Yes, it is. And I've made it."

Jack Templeton couldn't help but chuckle a little. _'I wonder who's going to tell his brother that?'_ He thought.

XXXXXXXX

It only took Bart a minute to get down to room 219. Buckley looked startled when he opened the door and found the youngest Maverick standing there. "Is it tomorrow already?"

Bart walked in past Buckley. "Close the door, Dandy."

"Yes, alright."

"Now, what was said about 'the bodies'? And don't leave anything out."

"That's all there was, Bart. But as soon as they saw me they all quit talking."

"Do you suppose – "

"I suppose nothing, my friend. They said nothing to make me assume anything."

Bart looked directly at Buckley. He could always tell when Dandy was being 'not quite honest.' "Our lives could depend on this, Jim. I need the truth."

Buckley sat down and looked up at the gambler. "The only other thing I heard – I swear this was all – "

"Yes?"

"Right before they talked about the bodies, somebody said 'Radson'."

XXXXXXXX

"I need to install a door that says 'Mavericks only'."

If Jack Templeton was trying to be humorous, Bart didn't find him at all funny. "Buckley says he heard them say 'Radson' right before they talked about what to do with the bodies."

"There's nothing else I can do at this point, Mr. Maverick. I'll tell you what I told your brother. There's still time to run if that's what you want to do."

Bart shook his head. "That won't do any good. We'd spend the rest of our lives lookin' over our shoulders."

"You should know, I've asked your brother to try and get the money from the group. And he's determined to keep you out of it, no matter the cost. Keep that in mind."


	18. Collateral

Chapter 18 – Collateral

Bret hadn't slept well; he had too many things on his mind. First and foremost was how to prevent Bart from going with him to the Maxwell Ranch. He had an idea but knew it wouldn't work as soon as he got up and realized Bart wasn't in bed. In fact, he wasn't even in the room. It was almost eight o'clock, which typically would have given Bret plenty of time to change clothes and eat breakfast; but this morning he seemed to have 'Bart Maverick' stomach and it was giving him a resounding 'NO' when it came to food.

Where was Bart? His buckskin jacket and gunbelt were gone; maybe he'd woken up early and gone to eat? Bret put on clean clothes and went down to the dining room. No Bart. Then he walked to Tiny's but his brother wasn't there, either. Bret stayed for a few minutes and drank a cup of coffee. That was all his system could handle and it would have to do. It was a little after nine by the time Bret arrived at the livery; he'd fully intended to spend some time grooming his horse but found it had already been done. As he walked over to pick up his saddle, he saw a foot sticking out of Noble's stall and recognized it. So that's where Bart was.

"Gonna saddle up and leave without me?"

Bret sighed. That had been the exact idea. "If I can get away with it."

"Not gonna happen."

"Just once, please do as I ask and stay out of this," Bret begged.

"Nope."

"I'm not in this alone, Bart."

"Is Jack Templeton ridin' out there with you?"

Bret froze; he didn't know whether to be angry, relieved, or both. He finally let out a long breath and in a hushed voice asked, "How long have you known?"

"Since the first time you went to see him. You've been workin' with him to keep me out of it; I've been workin' with him to keep you from gettin' killed."

"Buckley."

"Yeah," Bart answered. "I was in Littlewood, not with Julie Maxwell. I can't let ya go out there alone, Bret, it's gotten too serious."

"What aren't you tellin' me?"

"Buckley heard somethin' right before the part about hidin' the bodies."

"What?"

"He heard somebody say 'Radson'."

"And you believe him?"

Bart got to his feet. "Yeah, Bret, I believe him. I think they're plannin' on gettin' rid of both of us once they get what they want. Templeton agrees with me."

"When were you gonna tell me all this?" There was no malice in Bret's voice; it was simply a question to be asked.

Bart grinned at his brother. "I just did."

"I suppose there's no talking you out of it."

"Not as long as I'm alive and breathin'."

Bret sighed again and did something he hadn't considered since the night he sat in the Juniper trees at the river in Little Bend and contemplated stopping his brother from a rash act. Bart was on the verge of participating in a saloon hold up and Bret was determined to prevent it, by any means necessary. That night he was ready to; this morning he did. He pulled his Colt out of its holster and aimed it at Bart.

"I'll do whatever I have to, to stop this nonsense."

"You'd shoot me?"

"To stop you from gettin' killed."

Bart just stood there grinning at him. Slowly he raised his right hand, closed in a fist, turned it over and opened it. Out tumbled the bullets that were supposed to be in Bret's gun. "I think you might need these."

Bret looked at his gun, then the bullets laying on the straw floor, then his brother. It was an old Maverick trick, one he'd pulled on more than one occasion. "I give up," was all he could say. Bart bent down and picked up the bullets. He handed them back to his brother. "Aren't you afraid I'll reload and shoot you?"

"Nope," Bart answered, still smiling. "You're a man of honor. You gave up."

Bret took the time to reload his gun. "You haven't missed a trick, have you?"

"I learned from the best, Pappy."

XXXXXXXX

The brothers filled each other in on their individual meetings with Templeton as they rode to Maxwell's ranch. "That duplicitous son of a . . . . . . " Bret started before Bart interrupted him.

"Don't blame Templeton. You went to him, and so did I. He's just tryin' to catch this bunch any way he can. So the idea is to get them to commit to buying the weapons and turnin' the money over to you. Aren't they gonna want some of the guns first?"

"Templeton says he's got it taken care of."

Bart nodded. "Alright, then let's get this over with. Is Buckley gonna decline to participate gracefully?"

"When have you ever known Buckley to do anything gracefully?"

"Well, there was that time – "

"Never mind. He just needs to get out of there any way he can."

They rode up to the ranch a few minutes early; both were more nervous than they would have liked but were experts at keeping a poker face. "Ready, Geoff?" Bart asked.

"As I'll ever be, Henry," came Bret's answer.

Bart did the knocking and, as usual, Julie answered the door. Her face lit up when she saw who it was. "Gentlemen, please come in."

Slade and Travers were there, along with two men they didn't know. Buckley had yet to arrive. Bart took a studied look at the two new faces; he was sure that one of them must be the 'surly looking fellow' that Dandy had spoken of.

"Bret, Bart, coffee?" Julie asked.

"Please," Bart responded; Bret merely nodded. Both shook hands with Maxwell, Slade, and Travers, then took seats on the settee in the front room.

"Bret and Bart Maverick, this is Tam Porter, the man that handles the funds for us, and Stefan Brothers. Stefan is the leader of the group in Corpus Christy."

"Maverick?" Porter asked.

"That's the current name, yes," Bret answered.

Before any more questions could be asked or answered Julie brought in two cups of coffee for the new arrivals, then returned with the pot to refill everyone else. By that time a buggy could be heard pulling up outside; no doubt it was Jim Buckley. He too was met at the door by Julie.

Maxwell went through the same introductions he'd just made to Bret and Bart. Buckley nodded to the Mavericks; Bart nodded back but Bret just glared. Julie brought Buckley a cup of tea and he graced her with a big smile.

"Now that we're all here, gentlemen, let's not waste any time. Mr. Buckley, the other day you mentioned that you wouldn't be able to supply us with everything we required. What can you get us?"

Buckley reached inside his coat and pulled out his wallet, from which he produced a sheet of paper. "Here's the list of what I would be able to procure for the group."

Lee Maxwell read over the list and then handed it to Tam Porter. Neither man looked particularly happy. "I'm disappointed, Jim. When you said you couldn't get us some of what we wanted, I certainly never expected this big a deficit."

"Sorry, Lee, it seems the small weapons market has dried up considerably in the past few months. The Federal government is actively pursuing prosecution of arms dealers. That's all I'm able to scrounge up on such short notice."

"Radson?" Porter questioned.

"Maverick," Bret corrected as he handed Porter his list, with prices included.

Porter whistled. "Pretty impressive. And you have no trouble supplying this much firepower?" He passed the paper over to Lee Maxwell, who looked relieved.

"Nope. I will require payment up front, however."

Bart watched the events without saying a word. Things appeared to be going well, and he got up and went out to the kitchen, where Julie was quietly observing everything. "I wish this was all over," she told him.

He pulled a strand of hair away from her face, before slipping his arm around her. Still watching everything intently, he gave the impression of being totally casual about the proceedings. As if this happened in his life quite often. "It will be soon," he replied, as he kissed the top of her head.

"That's understandable, Bret. That won't be a problem, will it Tam?"

The world exploded with Tam Porter's answer. "No, no problem at all. But we will require some collateral when we hand the money over. Say, your brother."


	19. A Fair Trade

Chapter 19 – A Fair Trade

"What?"

Everybody heard Porter's remark. " . . . we will require some collateral when we hand the money over. Say, your brother." It took almost a full minute before anyone reacted to it.

"My brother?" Somehow Bret was able to keep his voice even and steady as he repeated the demand. Buckley looked like he'd just been shot. Even Lee Maxwell appeared surprised.

"Really, Mr. Maverick, you didn't expect we would just hand over our funds, did you?"

"Geoff – " Bart felt Julie stiffen as he used Bret's 'real' name.

"No. Something else, but not my brother." The way Bret answered Porter there was no room for negotiation.

"Really?" Tam asked. "You have faith in your ability to get us what we require but you want our money to prove we're serious? Is that how you work, Mr. Radson?"

"I want your money so I can purchase the weapons, Mr. Porter."

Bart shook loose of Julie and walked back to where the other men were gathered. "Geoff, it's a reasonable request."

His younger brother's second use of his 'name' got Bret's attention, and he answered in kind. "No, Henry."

"Can I speak to you outside, please?"

Bret nodded and got up from the settee, following Bart out onto the porch. Bart made sure to close the door securely behind him.

"We have to do this, Bret."

Bret shook his head vehemently. "No. You are not staying here as collateral."

Bart's voice was almost a whisper. What he had to say was for his brother's ears only. "Listen to reason, will you? We've come this far. What good will it all be for if we quit now? Pappy and Ben get here tomorrow. Do you want this bunch still runnin' loose?" Bart could see the answer in his brother's eyes. "Well, neither do I. So what choice do we have?" He stopped and forced a smile on his face. "Besides, I've got Julie to keep me company."

"No."

There was no changing Bret's mind, and Bart knew it. So he simply ignored his brother's answer and hurriedly opened the front door. "All settled, gentlemen. I'll be your guest for however long it takes," he announced loudly as he walked back inside. Now everything was up to Bret.

The older Maverick sighed and gave up. Once again Bart had recklessly out-maneuvered him, and much as he would like to strangle 'little brother' at this exact moment, deep down he knew Bart was right. This was the only opportunity they would get to rid Texas of this disease once and for all. And banish the group from the Mavericks lives.

"How do you want to do this, Maxwell?" Bret asked resignedly.

"Alright, Maverick, you won't regret it. Tam and I will ride into Laredo with you. We can go straight to the telegraph office so you can get started, then over to the bank for the funds. Your brother will be here with the boys and my sister until we all return. Mr. Buckley, as you've probably already determined, we will not need any of your supplies. I thank you for making the trip to Laredo. Slade will saddle a horse for you to return to town on. You can ride back with us if you'd like."

Dandy nodded. He was happy to get off the Maxwell ranch as fast as he could and all in one piece. "Fine with me, Maxwell. I'm staying in town for the poker game, anyway. Looks like you win, Geoff. I wish you and your brother well. No hard feelings, eh?" And Buckley extended his hand to Bret, who made as unpleasant a face as he could and shook Buckley's hand.

"Bart, a word?" Bret called his brother into the far corner of the kitchen, which Julie vacated to give them privacy. "I don't like this, little brother."

"It's the only way, and you know it."

"Just keep your eyes and ears open. Templeton was gonna swoop in once we left; he better be payin' attention to what happens."

"He will. You be careful, ya hear? I'll be fine," Bart announced, with as much conviction in his voice as he could muster. For just a moment he laid his hand on his brother's arm, gave a squeeze, and then withdrew it.

Bret turned away from Bart and back towards Lee and the others. 'You ready, Maxwell?"

Lee Maxwell put his hat on and adjusted his gun belt, then stood up and crossed the room. "Let's have your gun, Maverick," he insisted, as he put out his hand. Bart complied, but Maxwell didn't move. "The derringer, too."

The gun was accompanied by a small sigh. He was hoping to get away with retaining the Remington; either Maxwell had seen the gun or Julie had told him about it.

"Tam, Bret, Buckley, let's go. Julie, honey, we'll be back in a couple hours. Be careful."

Slade came back into the house just as everyone else was ready to leave. "Horse is saddled," he told no one in particular, and the men filed quietly outside.

"I'm sorry about the derringer," Julie told Bart.

The gambler shrugged it off. "Don't need it, anyway. Wasn't plannin' on shootin' you or anybody else." He gathered the girl into his arms and kissed the top of her head again. "Just gonna have a peaceful, friendly mornin'."

"Did you have breakfast?" she asked him.

"Nope. You offerin' to cook some?"

She nodded and smiled. "Long as you keep me company."

Bart laughed a little. "I got nowhere to go."

XXXXXXXX

Jack Templeton watched from his vantage point up on the hill. He could observe the comings and goings at the Maxwell ranch; because of the way the hills were sloped they couldn't see him. And he was not happy. Nothing seemed to be going according to plan, but that didn't surprise him. Nothing ever seemed to work the way it was supposed to when you were dealing with a group like the Republic people.

"Clark!" He called his second in command.

"Yes, sir," Brady Clark answered as he arrived.

"Have the men stand down. Maverick just rode off, but he had Maxwell, Porter and Buckley with him. Not the way we expected it. Slade and Travers are still at the ranch along with the other Maverick and the girl. Don't know what's goin' on, but we're gonna wait and see what happens. Send Jackson back into Laredo to keep an eye on that bunch. Nothin' else, just watch 'em and report back here."

"Yes, sir," Clark answered, and rode back to pass the word to the men gathered there. Clark talked to Jackson, who lit out for town as fast as his horse could go.

Templeton's mind was working as quickly as he would allow it. _'They must be holdin' Maverick as a hostage of some sort. That's not good. Unless it means that Bret's convinced them to give him the money. That'd be a fair trade, wouldn't it? One man's life for how many hundreds or thousands?'_

The only problem was Bret Maverick wouldn't see it that way. As long as he drew breath there was no way he would be willing to trade his brother's life to stop the potential war. There was a way around that, too, but Jack didn't like the way it sounded or made him feel. Trade two brothers' lives for the state of Texas?


	20. The Waiting Game

Chapter 20 – The Waiting Game

Ranger Jackson followed the four riders at a safe distance, to the telegraph office and then to the bank, and when three of them started towards the L Bar M Ranch he took the short cut back to the Rangers position in the hills just south. Brady Clark took him straight to Jack Templeton and he told his superior everything.

The Ranger listened as Jackson explained the phony telegrams sent by Maverick to the pre-arranged names that he'd been supplied with; the withdrawal of funds from the Maxwell bank account, and the snippet of conversation he'd been able to overhear outside of the bank. Bart Maverick was indeed being held as collateral for Bret's return and the arrival of the weapons 'purchased' by the group, but what would happen once the riders returned to the ranch was not discussed.

Templeton drew his own conclusions from the information he'd gained. He'd already made arrangements for a small shipment of arms to arrive from Laredo. Hopefully, it was enough to convince Maxwell and the others that Bret Maverick was legitimately Geoff Radson.

The weapons being shipped to the L Bar M were actual working arms; the catch was that no ammunition was shipped with them. Templeton had revised the plans to capture the participants at the ranch; he hoped that their fears would be somewhat allayed by the first small shipment and they might relax their guard long enough to save both Mavericks lives. That was still his intention. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was willing to sacrifice the two innocent men to capture the Republic supporters. The thought saddened but didn't deter him.

He watched as Maxwell, Porter and Maverick approached the ranch; saw them dismount and secure their horses outside, and enter the house. Sometime in the next two hours the original shipment would arrive; after it was inspected and accepted the Ranger contingent would make its move. He hoped that wasn't too late for the Mavericks.

XXXXXXXX

Everything was quiet and peaceful at the ranch while the owner and his compatriots were gone. Slade and Brothers went out back and stayed outdoors; Travers sat in the far corner of the room where he could keep an eye on Bart. Julie cooked breakfast and Bart ate. They talked about everything but their brothers, and more than once the girl reiterated that she would be glad when everything was over and resolved.

"What if it doesn't come out the way your brother wants it to?" Bart finally asked.

"I haven't thought about that, not really. I don't know. What are you going to do when this is all said and done?"

"What I've always done, I suppose. Play poker and follow my brother around. Maybe I'll go out to San Francisco. It's been quite a while since I was there. Or St. Louis. A bustling city, St. Louis is. Way different than anyplace else. There's so many rivers there, you almost don't need horses."

"I've never been anywhere out of Texas. Do you like traveling?"

Bart nodded as he finished the last of his coffee. "It's all I've known, ever since we got back from the war."

"You fought in the war?"

"Oh sure. We both did. Let's be clear about this – we did not volunteer."

Julie almost laughed, but his tone was so serious that she thought better of it. They left the dishes in the basin and went to sit on the settee. Bart settled comfortably in one corner and Julie curled up next to him, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her. When several minutes had passed she finally asked him, "Did you wear the Confederate uniform or Yankee blue?"

He hesitated before answering her. "We were conscripted into the Confederate army, but we got taken prisoner and sent to Camp Douglas in Chicago. Ended up bein' Galvanized Yankees at the end of the war fightin' Indians. We were lucky, we got to stay together, and we both came out of it alive."

Julie said no more, and in just a few minutes Bart could hear her soft breathing. He decided she had a good idea and closed his eyes. He'd been up so early; it didn't take long before he joined her.

XXXXXXXX

The trip into Laredo didn't require much time. Buckley went back to the hotel, determined that he'd seen the last of the Maxwell's or anyone else in that group. He'd come away from the whole sordid affair relatively unscathed, and he intended to keep it that way.

Porter, Maxwell, and Maverick went to the telegraph office, where Bret wrote out several phony telegrams and had the clerk send them regarding the purchase of weapons. They then proceeded from there to the bank, where Bret opened an account and Porter had almost thirty thousand dollars transferred into it. Their business completed, all three riders headed back to the L Bar M Ranch.

Bret didn't say anything on the ride back to the ranch, he was too concerned about his brother and the delivery that Jack Templeton promised he'd arranged for later that morning. The original idea was to deliver a small shipment of weapons, sans ammunition, which should serve to convince Lee Maxwell's group that Bret was on the up-and-up. Then the Rangers would move in and arrest everyone at the ranch and every last one they could round up. Not only in Laredo but all over the state of Texas.

Bret didn't care what else happened, as long as he got Bart out of it safely. He was startled when he realized that Lee and Tam were discussing what they intended to do with Texas once it became an independent country again; he'd been paying no attention to them.

"Isn't that right, Maverick?" Maxwell asked.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear what you asked me," he replied.

"I said your life would be a lot more peaceful, too, once Texas was a Republic again, wouldn't it?"

"I'm sure it would. But until that happens – "

"Yes?" Tam Porter encouraged.

"I just wanna get out of this without any bloodshed."

"Ha! I'm afraid there'll be plenty of bloodshed once the fighting starts," Porter answered.

Bret looked directly at Tam Porter. "You know what I mean." Porter didn't like him or didn't trust him, or both. He wasn't sure which.

Porter and Maxwell went back to discussing Texas independence, and Bret resumed worrying about Bart. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Bart since it was more or less Bret's fault that they were in this mess to begin with, and it was at his insistence that they'd played the whole thing out.

He breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the L Bar M. He wondered if either of the two men with him had spotted the Ranger watching them when they were in town; Bret had seen him outside the telegraph office and again when they came out of the bank. There was no indication from either Maxwell or Porter, and he hoped that meant they hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary.

Once they got back inside everything seemed almost normal. Bart was stretched out on the settee, sleeping; Travers was still sitting in the corner watching everything that was or wasn't going on, and Julie was in the kitchen finishing breakfast dishes. Slade and Brothers were settled at the table playing seven-card stud. Bart opened his eyes and sat up as soon as the front door opened.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Maxwell asked, once everyone was inside.

"What now?" Bret inquired.

"Now we wait for the first delivery," Porter chimed in. He walked over to Slade and Brothers. "Got room for me?" he asked them.

"Bart?" This was from Bret.

"Hmmm?"

"You okay?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be? Any trouble?"

"Nope, none at all. Now all we can do is wait for the shipment."


	21. What Dreams May Come

Chapter 21 – What Dreams May Come

Somewhere around mid-afternoon a wagon rumbled up to the Maxwell ranch house. The driver was old and grizzled looking, and blankets covered the crates that were inside. As soon as they heard it, Maxwell, Porter and Brothers went out to inspect the contents, followed quickly by Tommy Slade and Bret. Bart and Julie watched from the window, and Travers kept an eye on them.

Porter was the first to break into the boxes, and he finally wore a satisfied expression on his face when he pulled one of the rifles out and gave it a thorough going-over. "Nice," was his pronouncement as he aimed the gun and sighted a target.

Lee Maxwell looked pleased as well, and he turned his attention back to Bret. "Ammunition?" he asked.

"On its way separately," Maverick responded, and Maxwell actually smiled.

"Good first step, Maverick," Brothers interjected.

Porter turned to face the gambler. "I'm satisfied."

Bret let out a breath and looked up to the hills toward the south. Where were Templeton and the Rangers? The plan had been for them to sweep in and make the arrests shortly after the guns were delivered, but there was no sign of them. He didn't know how much longer he could stall what even he had come to believe was inevitable – his and his brother's execution by one or the other of those present.

He kept an eye on Slade, having decided that the long-time foreman was the most likely candidate for the job. The only remaining question was how soon the attempt would be made. Bret looked at the house to see if Bart was still inside and when he turned back to face the secessionists and the first load of rifles he caught movement on the southern road. And then, before there was even time to react, some fifteen or twenty men came riding out of the trees and Bret reached instinctively for his gun.

There was no chance they wouldn't be seen; and in just moments Maxwell, Porter and Brothers had their weapons out and had begun shooting. The Rangers returned fire as everyone ran for the house. Brothers fell on the steps to the porch after catching a bullet; Maxwell was hit in the leg scrambling in the door. Bart and Julie disappeared from the window as he grabbed the girl and pulled her away from the glass.

"Your friends?" Porter shouted at Bret as they fled inside.

"What if they are?" Bret shouted back. He ducked behind the door just as Porter aimed at him and fired; he shot back and hit Tam in the shoulder. He quickly shifted to the other side of the room, directly in front of Bart.

"You no good . . . . . . traitor!" Maxwell yelled as his next shot went wide of both Mavericks. Quentin Travers and Tommy Slade ran for the back door, Travers fell as one of the Rangers circled around, but Slade sprinted for his life and disappeared.

Bret glanced sideways at Maxwell. "Don't make me shoot you, Lee. You can't win, it's all over."

"Not yet it's not!" As Lee Maxwell aimed and fired again, this time directly at Bret, Maverick was forced to shoot back. Maxwell went down and lay still. Julie screamed and ran for her brother, and before there was time for Bret to get out of the way she'd snatched Lee's gun and fired at the older Maverick.

Bart tried to stop her from running to Maxwell's side, but in her state of panic she evaded him. In a split second he knew where her bullets would go and he lunged in front of Bret. The shot caught him somewhere in the chest and the impact took his breath away, and at that moment he remembered his dream.

The older gambler fired out of instinct and Julie went down. Bret dropped his gun instantly and grabbed Bart, who'd fallen directly in front of him, and gently rolled his brother over. The large, dark stain spread on the front of Bart's shirt, and Bret choked back a sob. "Bart . . . ." was all he could manage, barely above a whisper, and his brother smiled up at him, then cringed in pain.

"Hurts," he murmured before unconsciousness took him.

To be continued in 'The Streets of Laredo'


End file.
